You don’t forget the first time you meet Eddy Merckx.
For any fan of sport, let alone cycling, it is a momentous occasion. He is a hero, a living legend, the greatest.
I got the opportunity at the Tour of Qatar in 2011. I wanted to be suave and offer witty conversation or clever questions. It didn’t work out quite like that.
I returned to the hotel one evening from the most savage run of my life, taking a beating from a colleague far quicker than me. My legs were in agony, I was panting like a St. Bernard in a heatwave and sweating onto the marble floor.
As I walked like John Wayne across the lobby, of course, there he was by the lift: the mythical “Cannibal”, who previously had only existed to me in cycling history books and monochrome photographs. I spluttered my debonair first words: “Oh, you’re Eddy Merckx.”
He gave a sympathetic smile to this sweating creature. I probably looked even more knackered than most of his adversaries after taking another trouncing. To his credit, he cheerfully obliged my wheezy small talk for a few minutes before I slunk up to my hotel room.
Merckx. Like meeting him, that staccato name stops you in your tracks when mentioned. He is the man who won 525 races and bestrode cycling. Between 1970 and 1974, he ludicrously averaged two Grand Tours and three Classics wins a year. His voracious attitude and unprecedented success shook up cycling.
From the Moon landing to civil rights and Woodstock, his heyday coincided with the awakening of a generation.
Sport enjoyed a thriving period too. It can’t be mere coincidence that several other epochal figures ruled their disciplines at the same time as Merckx, such as boxer Muhammad Ali, tennis player Rod Laver, golfer Jack Nicklaus and footballer Pelé.
Beneath the myth and the predatory mindset, there is mystery to unravel; he was a serial doubter and a man motivated by fear of defeat.
The camera always loved Eddy, even if rivals or French fans did not. He had the handsome intensity of a young Clint Eastwood. He was far more than a sportsman. The son of a Brussels greengrocer’s son became a symbol of unity and avuncular national treasure in divided Belgium.
Yet Eddy remains a down-to-earth, shy man who performed otherworldly feats on a bicycle. He must sometimes still wonder why is everyone so interested in me?
Merckx’s unprecedented cycling achievements often obscure the depth of his appeal. A cold, ruthless Cannibal off the bike wouldn’t have retained quite as much admiration. The sporting feats made him a legend, but his character helps to sustain it.
One last piece of advice: if you have the possibility of meeting Mr. Merckx, don’t go for a long run beforehand.
Andy McGrath, Editor of Rouleur Magazine
