CQ27_FINAL_SPREADS (1)

FROM PARIS TO THE
BLUE WAVES OF THE
MEDITERRANEAN,
FROM MARSEILLE TO
BORDEAUX, PASSING
ALONG In the 21st THE century, in the ROSEATE
poisoned bubble of the
professional peloton, less
enlightened attitudes still prevail.
AND DREAMING ROADS
SLEEPING UNDER THE
SUN, ACROSS THE
CALM OF THE FIELDS
OF THE VENDÉE, FOL-
LOWING THE LOIRE,
WHICH FLOWS ON STILL
AND SILENT, OUR MEN
ARE GOING TO RACE
MADLY, UNFLAGGINGLY.
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old boss.
Ridden in the spirit of ‘leaving
together, arriving together’,
the Audax requires all the
self-discipline of a Tour rider
– participants must manage
their pace and time to include
refuelling and rest stops – with
none of the cruelty. Success
is ultimately measured by the
completion of the distance, not
the speed of the first rider to
cross the finish line. The best
known is Paris-Brest-Paris. The
once monstrous professional
bike race is now an event that
gathers over 6,000 randonneurs
from 60 nationalities every 4
years to the roads of Normandy
and Brittany to ride together
in a spirit of discovery and
conviviality.
In the 21st century, in the
poisoned bubble of the
professional peloton, less
enlightened attitudes still
prevail. Professional cycling
remains a breeding ground for
gender strain – the unhealthy
push and pull between the
true emotional self and ideas
of hypermasculinity handed
down the generations from
DS to soigneur to club coach,
but all ultimately perceived
through the filter of one man
for whom surviving physical
tests was a triumph of the will
and the muscles. Audax may
be a humanitarian legacy, but
Desgrange is all about the
fetishisation of male bodies
and the kind of fascist-adjacent
politics that lead inevitably to
the 1936 Olympics.
The irony of whippet-thin men
churning out insane watts and
looking like they wouldn’t
pass a supermodel health test
shouldn’t be lost on us. In the
peloton, misogyny, racism and
hypermasculinity sit side by
side with intense emotions
and sexualities that cannot
be expressed. When we look
at the modern peloton, with
its blinding whiteness and
heteronormativity, we don’t
need to look far to see the dead
hand of Henri Desgrange.
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