The Peloton Diaries

Last week Cozy Beehive wrote about an interest in what the training diaries of famous professional cyclists might read like. I found the idea intriguing. Aside from the typical numbers, heart rates, and wattage, what other glimpses of their life might we gleen from their intimate writings? Might they spill the beans on late night trips to the fridge for secret ice cream and cookie binges or, possibly divulge something more sinister?

Fortunately, I've got a Way-Back machine to sort this curiosity out. Eddy Merckx was my first target, naturally. You might be surprised by what I've learned.


23/9/1973

Maertens is a SHIT! I felt strong. The legs were good. I had a gap and then all of a sudden it's faggy Freddy smiling at me, telling me to ease up and he'll lead me out. The son of a bitch chased me down and has the nerve to say that bullshit lie? Goddamn am I pissed! That Shimano riding mother fucker is dead to me. DEAD! At least Felice won...and the next time some asshole tries to swipe my cap off my head he's getting a mouthful of broken teeth.

25/9/1973

Went for a long spin with Swerts. 100km of which seemed uphill. The legs were heavy and felt like I was pushing a plow the whole way. Roger really cracks me up. Every time we passed a woman he'd put two fingers in the air and yell "Beeeeeeuuuuuoooooooo". I'm not sure what the hell he means by it, probably something perverted. It was hilarious though.

26/9/1973

Motorpaced for 5 hours today. I only wanted to do 3 hours, but Jean tricked me into another 2 by getting "lost". I swear that guy is trying to kill me. I was really on the rivet the last 50km and was looking forward to a hot shower when I got home. Right when I walk in the door Claudine is on my ass going on about how I didn't take out the garbage this morning and when she did the bag broke and spilled all over the kitchen floor. I was tired, so I wasn't thinking straight and said it was because of those shitty trash bags she buys. Oh man, was she angry! I tried to apologize, but she wouldn't have any of it. Me and my big fucking mouth...

27/9/1973

What a ride today! I did almost 300km with Swerts, Lievens, and Van den Bossche. I felt really strong and pushed the pace quite a bit. Lievens threw up twice! I rode a new bike Ernesto dropped off. It was pretty nice, not as soft as those Peugeots we used to have. The seat still seems to be a little low though... Gotta remember to do some measurements before we roll tomorrow.

28/9/1973

Another long one today with Swerts and Van den Bossche. Lievens said he was sick and didn't come. What a pussy. We did the usual route and stopped for espressos at Johan's. I had a few cakes because Claudine didn't make breakfast this morning and I was starving. VdB got a flat on the way home and we had to wait twenty minutes while he fixed it. We started laughing because he's such a terrible mechanic, like a gorilla with no thumbs. With us watching him, he got nervous and couldn't do anything right. Swerts started calling him "Fartin Van den Douche", I laughed my ass off at that. Martin just got all red and silent. He was alright once we got rolling though. When we got home Claudine was yelling at Sabrina about something. I didn't ask. She's still hacked about the other day. I went in and checked on Axel. You wouldn't believe the shit he took! It was like a split pea body suit. All over the place. It was disgusting. Then, while I'm cleaning all the crap off, he starts making this sound "Beeeeeeuuuuuuooooo!" "Beeeeeuuuuuooooo!" Swerts must have taught him that when I wasn't around. I never laughed so hard changing a shitty diaper. I'm gonna really put it to Swerts tomorrow though...and the cakes are on him.