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etire, he returned to his hometown of<br />
Aberdare and died just under a month<br />
later. And that’s when the rumours start<br />
– of Linton foaming at the mouth after a<br />
swig from Choppy’s bottle and dying from<br />
strychnine poisoning.<br />
The truth is far more prosaic and infinitely<br />
sadder. Linton died from typhoid fever<br />
brought on, it was said, by overexertion<br />
and the years of training and constant<br />
effort. His brother Tom, also a modestly<br />
successful rider, would die of the same<br />
illness 18 years later. Choppy Warburton,<br />
his career destroyed by a lifetime ban from<br />
the English cycling scene, suffered a fatal<br />
heart attack just a year after his protégé’s<br />
death in 1897, still fighting his ban. It was<br />
said he was worth just three halfpennies<br />
when he died.<br />
<br />
Dead of night. A fine rain – the<br />
kind that soaks you through<br />
– is falling. 11 men line up at the<br />
Bordeaux velodrome to ride the 567 km<br />
between them and the Parc des Princes.<br />
8,000 fans pack the building, cheering<br />
their heroes to the rafters as they head off<br />
into the darkness. A phalanx of lighted<br />
windows and cheering spectators mark<br />
the way as the rain doubles down, and<br />
the wind hits them square in the face like<br />
a fat wet sail.<br />
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