No one could have imagined Greg LeMond winning the 1989 Tour de France. No one except maybe his team director José De Cauwer. LeMond, who’d won the Tour in ‘86 and then collected a chest-full of shotgun pellets in a freak hunting accident, had not been the same rider since his return to racing. He struggled to rediscover his best form in races that in the past would have been easy for him. And he struggled to find a team that would pay him his previous million-dollar salary. No one believed in his comeback. So, in 1989, LeMond joined the Belgian team, ADR, which was a low-budget squad with a roster filled with riders who either had not yet made it or were surfing their way quickly toward retirement.
De Cauwer was a restless kid. School moved too slowly for him. Sitting in class was torture. He needed to be outside, moving, gulping in deep breaths of fresh air. He began racing as soon as he was old enough—and was immediately good at it. Amateur success led to a professional contract. Stalwart teamwork and individual wins moved him up the ranks. He was a racer in the style of a modern domestique—one who can rise to top performances in big races given the chance but who also performs flawlessly in the service of his team leader.
As the potential detonation closed in, his arms bowed, his upper body rocked more dramatically, and his pedal cadence slowed.
When his racing career ended, De Cauwer moved seamlessly into the role of sports director. He was a true scholar of the sport and perhaps equally important, he was a student of athlete psychology, ever observant of what it takes to motivate riders to perform at their best. His genius was understanding that it takes different approaches to motivate different athletes on different days.
In 1989, LeMond’s spring season had been unremarkable at best. Even with the shotgun-blast asterisk next to his performances, his future didn’t look hopeful. His past compensated for his present—if he’d been a neo-pro he would have been left at home or relegated to daily service on the Belgian kermesse circuit. Then, unexpectedly, LeMond’s form began to take a turn for the better. During that year’s Giro d’Italia, signs of that the old LeMond were still alive. If there was a foreshadowing of LeMond’s Tour victory, it came on the final stage of the ’89 Giro, an individual time trial from Prato to Florence.
Time trials make for stressful days. Team staff have to wrangle riders who are all on different schedules. Some are trying only to make the time cut. Others are trying to win. Some are manic. Others just ride. While riders on both sides of LeMond’s start time were busy with their pre-race warmups and rituals, LeMond was hidden away in his hotel room. Partially dressed for the race, he huddled over a fly-tying vice, meticulously adding feathers and beads and thread to tiny hooks while he daydreamed of fishing in rivers and streams back home in the States.
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