Hour.
I sit half in half out of a rental car outside the Velodrome, stuffy french voices schooled in smoking Gauloises debate high culture in the background on a turned down radio, two women dressed in gaudy red outfits stand by their van grabbing a few minutes of outdoor air and car park serenity. In a couple of hours the world’s hardest German will nail his career to the wood in a swan song to the tune of AC-DC and the heat of a thousand voices.
I am early but I’m not alone. Photographers sit in cars and lounge chairs in that calm before the scrum they all know so well. As time idles past and we draw closer to the hour of the gladiator the tempo raises with the presence of more and more people arriving. They have come from all corners to see this leviathan of our sport end something special by planting ideas in the minds of babes. This will make the hour record cool once more. Talk overheard is of whether he can, why he can’t, that it won’t stand for long as the new blood gets wind, that it doesn’t matter because he is here, they are here. That is right, now is what really matters.
A thousand caps and jerseys and T shirt slogans file in carrying their cameras and posters, concealing hundreds of Sharpies just in case. Taking their red plastic chairs I notice he’s already out weaving the laps into a warm up inches behind one of the put put motorbikes I always fear will spill two stroke oil all over the bank as it whizzes round on point. It doesn’t and in he goes for a chat and a towel and then disappears downstairs. All the while a mixture of attention and shuffling about goes on in the stalls. The smell of frites sneaks in from the restaurant outside every time anyone opens the doors and in they still come. Our hero re-emerges and takes to the planks once more, round and round, steady, silent, observed. We all stand and just watch. Some cheer and the music turns up a notch. It is reminiscent of so many things. A little like Le Mans 24hr, a little like Barcelona training ground, a little like Rocky IV.
Time nears and almost without build up he is in the starting gate on the saddle, eyes closed, focusing on the words of one of the Trek crew in front talking to him. I wonder what it is like inside Jens Voigt’s head at this precise moment. I would be frantically trying to force quit all the babble going round in mine I am sure, but he looks quite calm, serene in fact. This looks like a man that knows what he is about to achieve. There is breathing and stretching but no outward fear. We don’t want to see fear in this big brave German. We are cleared from our two minute window of viewfinder opportunity back to the sidelines and the scene unfolds like the race start of Steve McQueen’s Le Mans. Almost filmic in it’s actuality, but it is actual and the pips orchestrate it’s reality as he launches and it has begun, already re-running on Instagram.
Never out of sight the lone figure down in the arena appears small in his surroundings as he grinds out the laps, super quick at first, slowing to a more even tempo soon after. Similarly our crowd for the evening are never out of earshot, despite the very audible rock sound track. Metallica up the mayhem even though some of the mix tape exults such overheard wisdom as ‘shut up Scorpions’. Stopping after a while to take it all in from the far corner it seems so similar to Le Mans to me. The anticipation, travel, build up, hope, belief, feeling of belonging and witnessing history being timed, it all matters right here right now and just like the circuit at La Sarthe, the absolute surreality of what is happening non stop hits you and you enter a renewed phase of awe and wonder.
The heat, the smell, the bell, the noise, it all hangs thick in the air as he winds round and round. I look up and around the place as all eyes are on us. The world is watching it unfold in front of them, a new era ushered in by a man bowing out. Lap, bell, lap, bell, noise elevated, mexican wave. AC-DC becomes Metallica, becomes Europe. The Final Countdown.
The timing board proves what the microphone fiend proclaims, we have a new record holder. The air is punched, the crowd react and the media scrum reconvenes exactly where it left off. As he dismounts and straightens up I tell him he doesn’t even look knackered, ‘oh, I am’ he replies as he heads to the crowning of the corporate cap. Interviews, flowers, podium follow before he heads back out onto the track to greet his public one last time in this capacity. As he steps onto the boards, bike in hand, he stops, turns and in absolute seriousness, asks an official whether he needs to be wearing a helmet to go onto the track. I smile at the Germanic proper-ness of that, warmed by his humility and basic niceness. He rides a lap shaking hands then jumps into the crowd and is swallowed whole. Almost rock star like in his presence, this sport is richer with him in it and knows it will be slightly poorer tomorrow.
Interview, press conference, hand shaking and autographs. Never anything but that beaming grin. Later at dinner he sits for a while at our table, making sure we have enough champagne and birthday cake. Conversations ensue, press passes are signed, beers bought. You can see the relief in his eyes that it’s all over, the pain and the suffering and the emotion and yet there is a new beginning. For others in his footsteps, but for him too. We will not have not seen the end of Jens Voigt.
One in the morning and he is still going when the last of us hangers on leave. Car park conversation continues as if not wanting to call time on an evening about the clock. As I pack the cameras away and plot the sat nav for 20miles of Playmobil land I stop and look at the clear alpine sky and feel touched by it all. I have always been impressed by the pain maker, but this evening I was charmed too. An hour of history I was witness to that I will never forget. Silently I thank Jens. He is a machine and a gentleman.
©Augustus Farmer 2014
MORE on Jens
What wikipedia says about Jens Voigt Here
Follow Jens on Twiiter https://twitter.com/thejensie
More wikipedia on the Hour Record Here
Watch shut up legs one more time Here.. you know you want to!