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  It was time to reinvent himself. He initially thought the Monuments would be a good option, potentially Paris–Roubaix, and he did quite well, finishing ninth in 2014. But it was to the track he returned, where he had won a career tally of five Olympic golds. The hour record was the perfect project and goal for him to work on, and he turned himself around to once again achieve an amazing feat.

  On 20 November 2016, Bradley returned to the city of his birth, Ghent, to partner Mark Cavendish in a Six Day, for what turned out to be the final run of his career. He spoke of remembering the smell of embrocation on the legs of the riders when he’d been there as a child, how it felt like coming home. On the very boards that his father had raced on 30 years earlier, Wiggo and Cav won the title – a fitting end to an extraordinary racing career. Once the formal interviews were over and the TV networks were off air, my co-commentator Tony Gibb and I hung back to watch. Brad took his time but finally held the auditorium mike and addressed the crowd, who’d packed into the track centre, where the celebrations were about to start. Deafening cheers rang out.

  ‘Hold on, hold on, quiet for f--k’s sake! I just want to say thanks to all of you and particularly to this man.’ [Gives Cav a shoulder hug.] ‘I couldn’t have done this without him.’ [Cav starts to cry.] ‘I love this man and I love this place.’

  That night, Cav went to bed early as Brad went to the nearby bar owned by the father of Six Day specialist Iljo Keisse and joined the attempt to drink the place dry. Two weeks later, Brad retired from all forms of cycling.

  I often think of Sir Bradley as being more of a club rider in terms of his persona, rather than a star of the sport, which he certainly is. He’d probably take that as a compliment. He’s what actors call the very best in their trade: ‘a natural’.

  Chris Froome

  Interviewer: ‘It must be a pleasure to stuff all the criticism back down your detractors’ throats?’

  Chris Froome: ‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but yes, winning feels pretty good.’

  If cucumbers could talk, they’d say ‘as cool as a Froome’. A brilliant climber, expert time triallist and superb strategist, he’s the ultimate cold-blooded competitor, who has won a remarkable four Tour de France yellow jerseys as well as the pink and red of the Giro and Vuelta – victory in Italy in May 2018 meant he wore all three at the same time. Chris seemingly has no inner demons. He himself is the demon. Just ask any member of the French press corps. Or indeed any rider.

  Polite to a fault and quietly spoken he may well be, but he’s dogged. His nickname is Froome-Dog. A fitting moniker to wrap around the most single-minded, ambitious, dedicated and committed rider of his generation, perhaps of all time.

  Froome’s public persona is, to be honest, a marketing man’s worst nightmare, but a PR man’s dream. He comes across as very ‘safe’ if not a little bland. You don’t expect to hear any expletives from Chris. Of course, when he’s interviewed in public he is nearly always accommodating and diplomatic. His replies generally toe the party line, as he is so well briefed. This is a very bright man, who is very conscious of the consequences of his words. When he’s in PR mode, he gives away nothing. He thanks his teammates for the great job they did on the day, he’ll pay respect to his rivals and fashion a modest outlook on his prospects in the race. Everything he says is safe, couched within standard responses.

  In person he’s more convivial and charming than he comes across on TV, but he’s not exactly chummy. The character that he presents to the world, his public persona, is a construct, a facade that hides the traits of a cold-blooded, calculated competitor, a man with hidden depths and passions who has overcome illness to become the most dominating cyclist of his generation. Domination is the key word here: his force of personality has enabled him to overpower rivals, both within and outside of his team, in his quest to be the best. He is the most decorated of our heroes: a four-time Tour de France champion, he has six Grand Tour titles in total and at one point held all three – the Tour, Vuelta and Giro – at the same time. Simply remarkable.

  When paratroopers train, they do so in full kit with a rucksack on their back. When they take the kit off, they can run for another 16km (10 miles). Chris Froome trained for years with a similar handicap without even knowing it. He discovered in 2010 that he’d contracted bilharzia from swimming in a lake in Africa. Known as river blindness, it’s an infection caused by a parasitic worm that lives in water in the tropics. The parasite can remain in the body for many years, causing damage to bladder, kidneys and liver.

  From his arrival at Sky in 2010 until his startling ascension in the 2011 Vuelta, Froome suffered a grey patch of results that were so dismal his team were considering letting him go. Jonathan Vaughters was lining him up to join his team at Garmin. Froome puts his poor performance down to the effects of bilharzia, which weakened him and left him incapable of reaching his true potential until it was finally diagnosed at the end of 2010. The parasite feeds on red blood cells, making his body less capable of storing oxygen – a significant performance hurdle. Even after treatment he succumbed to a series of chest infections because the illness had damaged the immune system of his body.

  Once cured, he began to assemble a series of remarkable results. Rather like the paratroopers shedding their backpacks, Froome was suddenly able to perform without the effects of a debilitating condition he’d carried for so long. He was free.

  If you look at Froome’s physique and body shape in the 2016 Tour, it’s remarkably different from the chubby, baby-faced kid who was trying to make an inroad into the world of professional cycling seven or eight years prior. Back in his Barloworld racing team days, he was 9kg (20lb) heavier – and he looked it. Froome has succeeded in shedding every ounce of spare body fat without affecting his power output. Now he not only shows remarkable staying power in the mountains but is also one of the best time triallists in the peloton. Once criticised for his poor bike-handling and descending skills, he’s now winning stages of the Tour de France by exploiting others’ weaknesses coming down the mountains.

  But perhaps more remarkable than his physical attributes and impressive skills set is his sheer strength of will. He has used this to impose himself on both his team and the pro peloton. In 2012 he was employed as a super-domestique in support of his team leader, Bradley Wiggins, who indeed went on to win the Tour de France.

  Problems started during the race as the pair climbed La Toussuire. Brad was in yellow, more than two minutes ahead of Froome in the General Classification (GC), but Froome was clearly frustrated. Feeling in the form of his life, he suddenly put in an attack on the leading group, which included his team leader, Wiggins. Within seconds he’d created a gap of more than 30m (100ft) and Bradley was clearly struggling. There was no way that Wiggo could keep up with his supposed domestique, the man whose job it was to guide him up the mountains. Back in the team car, Sky race director David Brailsford was going crazy on the radio, ordering Froome to fall back and support Bradley. The theatrics with which Froome responded were so over the top it reminded me of a bad mime artist. There are subtle ways of getting on to your radio, but he almost ripped his shirt off, holding out the under-jersey radio mike for the whole world to see. There he was, still powering up the mountain, one-handed, looking behind him almost in disbelief at the faltering climbing abilities of his supposed team leader. It was a clear message that he was the stronger rider of the two, and that he was capable of taking the yellow jersey himself.

  In the aftermath, Team Sky put their PR faces on to cover up what was clearly a move from Froome that was way beyond any team orders. But Froome still wanted to make a further point: on Stage 17 in the Pyrenees, he again went ahead of Wiggins and started to make frequent glances back at his teammate, pulling ahead while gesturing for him to hurry up and join him. As Laurent Jalabert, the retired former Tour winner, said at the end of the stage, ‘It wasn’t a beau geste. . . You don’t do that to your teammates. I think it darkens the triumph of Wiggins.’
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br />   Back in the Sky bus at the end of the day, it was chaos. Bradley was threatening to pull out of the Tour. Brailsford was battling to control the situation. Both stars had to be appeased. Froome was clearly the stronger; Brad was on the edge. Time for some masterly management. Whatever happened in the bus that day remains secret. But order was restored. How financial this settlement became was a matter of huge debate and speculation among the journalists. What was clear, however, was that this was the day Froome became Team Leader in Waiting. They rode on. Froome toed the line. Brad won the race.

  Froome’s behaviour was not soon forgotten by Wiggins.

  The sheer brazen impudence of Froome’s actions were in stark contrast to the face he puts on in front of the media. The choirboy looks hide a brute within who will employ almost any tactics to impose his will on those around him. What’s almost scary is the cold, calculated way in which he does so.

  Froome’s intelligence and skill at manipulating the rules were highlighted again in the 2014 Tour, where we could see him planning on the hoof too. Occasionally this has to be defensive. The riders were coming to the end of a stage and within the 20km (12-mile) limit of not being allowed assistance of any kind from the team cars. These are rules designed to make racing safer so that bidons and feed bags are not bouncing around and hampering a climax. Froome had, for once, miscalculated his food intake and was heading for the cyclist’s nightmare – ‘the bonk’, where all energy suddenly drains away because of a lack of nutrition. Froome raised his hand to indicate a technical issue such as a puncture. The commissaire radioed for the Team Sky car to come forward to assist. There was no puncture. Instead, Geraint Thomas went back to the car and collected gels. Chris was faltering as Thomas quickly returned. Seeing what had happened, the race director went apoplectic. Froome was taking the risk that the only sanction would be a fine, nothing more severe. The fact is that Froome, even in extremis, had the nous to read the situation and dealt with it, albeit by bending the rules on feeding so late in the race. This is genius.

  While Froome plays the diplomat in press conferences, he’s not averse to approaching journalists to put his view across in a more uncompromising fashion. And with some force. He texts me occasionally. In the 2013 Vuelta a España, on the opening kilometres of a tough climbing day, he crashed into a barrier on the side of the road, the type that blend gently into the ground. They were not immediately obvious and should have been pennanted by a race steward. Sure enough, Froome crashed into them. I commented at the time that this could have been as a result of his head-down riding style, which has him contemplating his handlebars. It’s a position he seems to be comfortable riding in and has been noted by many. Froome battled through the stage but was later forced to pull out of the race with a foot injury. At the end of the day, when he heard what I’d said, he was furious and sent this message:

  ‘If you didn’t see the crash yourself please reserve your opinions. It wasn’t a “lack of vision” as you pointed out as often as you could today. I was pushed into the barrier.’

  Sure enough, there were pictures that came out later which proved I was right. But the only way we were ever going to speak to him again that race was if I apologised. I texted back two replies:

  ‘To be fair, at the time I said it was an assumption and we could be wrong. I’m a huge fan and wish you the very best. Hope you race on well. Fond regards.’

  ‘I’ll say something on air today.’

  His reply: ‘Thanks Carlton, I’d appreciate that. The last thing I need right now is media reporting that “I wasn’t looking where I was going” or similar.’

  The next day, on air, I said that Froome had claimed that it had been a racing incident and that the viewers could draw their own conclusions.

  What Froome presents is a polished persona, but on the inside there’s a demon. The convivial diplomat that we see in a pre- or post-race interview is dumped unceremoniously in the bin as soon as he climbs aboard the Sky bus or his bike. He is actually anything but bland. Froome does whatever has to be done.

  Geraint Thomas

  Interviewer: ‘How did you do that?’

  Geraint Thomas: ‘Honestly, I have absolutely no idea!’

  Clever, cuddly, classy. Everybody loves Geraint. A cycling god you can worship without having to justify your religion. When anyone says: ‘I love G’, nobody ever asks why. People know a good guy when they see one. And we’ve seen a lot of this multiple Olympic and World track champion. Oh, and did I mention he won the Tour de France?

  Geraint Thomas has always been one of the more colourful individuals in the peloton with his witty ripostes to reporters and tongue-in-cheek comments after hard-fought battles in the Tour, Giro and Vuelta. Along with Bradley Wiggins and Mark Cavendish, he brings a bit of British dry humour to the continental scene, in stark contrast to the far more serious Froome and the evasive Simon Yates.

  Geraint is a grounded guy who loves his rugby and football. Given this, it’s easy to forget what a phenomenal cyclist he is. His status as wingman to Froome in the Grand Tours means we often forget that he’s a successful double Olympic gold medallist and three-time World Champion on the track in the brutal event of the team pursuit.

  Growing up in rugby-mad Cardiff, he had to endure his fair share of teasing from his contemporaries to whom he had to justify shaving his legs and wearing Lycra bib shorts. But his early success with local club Maindy Flyers set him on the path to cycling glory. Like many of our British road racing stars – Wiggo, Cav and Yates – he found initial success on the track.

  The fact is that G is just the sort of guy you’d want in the highly pressurised environment of an Olympic cycling team, to lighten up the atmosphere with a quip before the most important race of your career. He has developed a mindset over the years to overcome that excruciating fear, paranoia and sickening anxiety before these huge moments: he focuses on the process, not the outcome, and reverts to what he calls the computer in his head, programmed by coach Steve Peters. Off the track, there are times he lets the computer default to daft. He once put out a rumour that one of Team Sky’s secrets to success was to eat only onions for one day a week. Some professionals missed the mischief in this and took his comment at face value. There are no methane-powered bikes, but that month we did wonder.

  What we all love about G is that he is so down to earth. He doesn’t overcomplicate things. He once said, ‘At the end of the day, we just train hard, rest well, eat well – and that’s it. It’s just hard work and I think sometimes they think we must be doing some crazy new diet or crazy new training regime, but it’s pretty simple.’ So keep him well serviced, fill him up, point him out of the bus and off he goes. ‘Nothing complicated.’ Believe me, in the complicated world of team road cycling this view is as refreshing as it comes.

  He likes to party and has been known to fully enjoy his time off the bike. Beers, burgers and Welsh cakes – he tweeted that the baked delicacies were the only way to celebrate after winning the Tour de France. But all this ignores the fact that he’s led an incredibly disciplined life since the age of nine, when he began to take cycling seriously.

  Like a lot of professional cyclists, he’s an absolute hardman. He ruptured his spleen in a crash back in 2005 and raced with a fractured pelvis in 2013 on nothing more than ibuprofen. His crash on the 2015 tour, when he was wrapped around a telegraph pole on the descent of Col de Manse, was a classic G moment. To everyone who saw it, it looked like an horrendous crash, one likely to have horrible consequences. G, though, clambered back up the mountainside and remounted his bike, his only complaint that he’d lost a pair of his trademark white sunglasses. ‘I feel all right for now,’ he explained at the finish line. ‘I guess my doctor will ask me my name soon. I’ll say: Chris Froome.’

  He’s been beset by bad luck on the few occasions when he’s been let off the leash. His first attempt as a general classification Grand Tour contender ended when he smashed into a badly parked police motorbike on the Giro. For any rid
er to suffer injury and have to bow out from a race is disappointing, but given how few chances he’d had beforehand, you might have expected him to be devastated that his opportunity was dashed by a badly parked bike. G simply pulled himself together and carried on chipping away, waiting for the moment to come.

  That moment duly arrived in 2018, when Froome’s form never fully recovered from his victory at the Giro. Sky said that Thomas had always been their Plan B, but the truth was that there’d never been any properly considered strategy other than that Froome should win a fifth Tour title to equal the extraordinary record of cycling greats Jacques Anquetil, Eddy Merckx, Bernard Hinault and Miguel Induráin. Plan G was that he’d be Froome’s wingman. That all changed when the leader got dropped.

  G’s victory was incredibly popular and restored a bit of faith in professional cycling. Unlike many of the other riders, he’s never been tainted by any insinuations of drug-taking. He’s never considered applying for a Therapeutic Use Exemption, for example. He’s clean in a way that must surely disappoint many rabid story-hunters.

  In all my time around the peloton and press rooms, I can’t recall that anyone has ever had a bad word to say about G. Which is not to say he’s boring or squeaky clean. He’s his own man and that takes belief. Belief in himself. It’s this mindset that really counts.