This photographer knew the picture that people would remember and that would shine a light into Sean Kelly’s character wasn’t of his face; the story is all below. These are legs only a cyclist could love.
In 1988 these legs won Paris-Nice for the seventh time, Gent-Wevelgem and his only Grand Tour Victory, the Vuelta a España, at that time, held in April. He raced to win from Paris-Nice in March to Lombardia in October with no peaking, or vacations, just single minded ambition.
You have to stay with the lithe Spanish climbers to win Vuelta. Kelly’s legs show no extra fat and no lack of might.
There he sits on the top tube of his Vitus 979 Aluminum framed race bike, answering questions in his hard- to- decipher Irish brogue. Even in black and white, one can see he is deeply tanned. No sunscreen and no Look pedals for Sean- he was possibly the last man in the peloton to switch. He always rode a bike that looked too small and cramped. Perhaps this wouldn’t have worked for anyone else but how does one argue with his method?
For all The Rules followers, study the socks. Ponder carefully, for this is what yours should look like: white and the perfect height. This is the way to set off tan, veiny, incredibly powerful legs. Do your legs look like these? No, I didn’t think so, but these socks would be a start.
The Rules readers might also study the gearing; maybe a 23-tooth sprocket as his largest on his seven speed freewheel and 52 and 42 chain rings up front. This must have been a very hilly course. Rule #5 was his middle name.
For my money, American writer Robin Magowan‘s books and articles about this cycling era are without peer; his summation of Kelly is perfect.
It is customary to talk of Kelly as quintessentially an Irish rider. For my part, though, I think it helps to place Kelly better as a cyclist to see him as the last of the Flemish riders. This is usually a title associated with the post-war rider, Briek Schotte who has become appropriately enough the man in day-to-day charge of the de Gribaldy teams. As exemplified by Schotte it stood for a certain type of mentality, willing to suffer, narrowly focused, and hard, hard, hard. Kelly had all this in him from his Irish small farm background: the outside loo; the dogs that have to be chained before you can step from your car; the one career possible, as a bricklayer on a construction site, stretching away and away into the grey mists. On the positive side, along with the self-reliance, came a physical strength that even by peasant standards is impressive. In a profession of iron wills, there is no one harder.
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I suspect even his shit had muscles...
Ah, the straight block, how I miss thee. That says hardman, loud and clear.
@bikenerd
Indeed! I'd sure hate to have been that guy's crank arm!
@john
Absolutely: guns like that are always loaded.
@frank
What can I say? I'm a citizen of the world. I'd still rather build legs like those above than build some kind of enigmatic mystique, though...
Ah Kelly the Awesome. I love the way he just quietly got on with dishing out the pain, day in, day out for nearly 20yrs as a pro.
Forgive the link (perhaps someone can help put up the pic) but check him out here, 86 Milan-San Remo, caked by dirt and rays, sat on the tops and just shovelling it up. Looks like Greg LeMond woofing down a triple decker pain sandwich just behind, or maybe wondering whether he can just huff a quick hit from his frame mounted bong and sit it out in the team car...
@Joe
Oh man, that picture says a mouthful. A mouthful-o-triple decker pain sandwich indeed. I pity the fool that had to stay on his wheel when he looked that fast. I also love these photos with no helmets and no glasses. The pain is not hidden behind anything.
That could be any number of riders behind. It's hard to ID that jersey, "La Vie Claire" maybe. It could be Bauer suffering back there too.
@Rob
You have good role models: Musashi and Kelly.
I have a very similar memory of Kelly early on but it was a race report with either black and white photos or it was so cold, rainy, dark, cloudy the color photos looked like it. The basic report was of Kelly attacking, attacking then just riding hard men off his wheel until he rode off solo. It was a year he was winning many Spring races, just unstoppable.
The photos showed Kelly, soaked and dirty with grey duct tape across the top of each shoe, either to block wind or padding for the toe clip straps. I was totally awed.
Robin Magowan's idea of Kelly being the last of the Flemish Hard Men though he was Irish. So true.
If only he could have been my father...
Dear friends,
I happen to know how to get a couple of guns like those. It involves a lot substances with names that end "ron". It also takes a lot of miles and a strict observance of Rule 5, but those veins don't come without the doctor...
They look like body builders' legs. Just for the record.
@johnI am not worthy of calling them role models! But it is with humble pleasure that I look back in my old age to that time when men like Kelly were racing and things seemed simple - toe clips, straight blocks and steel, no helmets, girlie glasses and electrolyte recovery shit.
We could just keep this post going permanently with new images and stories and nothing else and I would be happy!
Again, John (Beautiful little dog John or BLDJ) you have that Zen like quality of hitting the nail so squarely and with the power of the true hardman in all your endeavors that I am only your poor disciple.
@John John (? John), You are probably right but on the other hand I was mentored by a U.S. amateur legend and I KNOW that he did no, nada, nil, substances (ok good beer but that's training) and at age 60 or so his guns have the same topography as Kelly's with pencil thick veins and 3% body fat skin and a 38 bpm pulse rate pushing his crystal clear elixir of life languidly through the tree trunk like guns (you can see the pulse, I shit you not).
So before you go throwing stones at a monument who rode so long you might argue that he would have burned out if he had done the shit.
I'm just saying there is a possibility....and don't go bursting my last bubble!