Free At Speed: My Life in the Fast Lane by Cavendish Mark

the stage winner. I’d like to say it was linked to the experiences I’d shared with Gee growing up together as cyclists, all those times we’d talked and fantasized about doing this, the poignancy of us standing there behind a Tour de France podium together. Really, though, I think I was just ready to let it all out.
    When it was my turn to go up on the podium, I’d composed myself, but then I heard the Tour anthem, the few bars of classical music that they play just as you’re about to walk up the steps to the stage, and I went again. This time the tears came in uncontrollable floods. As someone pointed out to me later, I’d cried at some point in every Tour de France I’d done. This time, we were barely a week in and within the space of 24 hours there had been tears of sorrow and tears of joy.
    The interviews I’d given until that point in the Tour had been almost comical—except for the journalists having to contrive stories out of my quotes. In my desperation not to court any kind of controversy, I’d turned myself into a parody of the PR-pandering monosyllabic sportsman. One day I’d been asked whether I was already toofar behind in the green jersey competition to have any chance—the kind of question that infuriated me—but I’d responded with a forced smile and parroted, “I’m looking forward to the rest of the Tour.” Now, when waterworks had stopped pumping, I could finally relax in the press conference and in front of the cameras. Standing and “supervising” me, Kristy didn’t know whether to feel relieved or petrified.
    If my demeanor had changed overnight, then so had the tone of the coverage in the press. Here’s a little sample of the next day’s cuttings:
    Het Laatste Nieuws (Belgium):
    CAVENDISH SENDS HIS TORMENTOR TO HELL IN MONTARGIS
    Cavendish found a wonderful way to exact sporting revenge.
    He came off Renshaw’s wheel like a man possessed, staring into infinity. Immediately after the finish, tears streamed from his bulging cheeks.
    Gazet Van Antwerpen (Belgium):
    CAVENDISH WINS AND BREAKS THE TOUR SPELL
    Le Figaro (France):
    THE “CAV” BRIDLED
    The “bad boy” who burst into tears. The fifth stage of the Tour de France has marked the awakening of Mark Cavendish and unveiled his human face.
    Guardian (UK):
    MARK CAVENDISH’S PYROTECHNICS BLOW FIELD AWAY
    I didn’t mind the fickleness, because I was often guilty of the same thing. I certainly preferred that to Bob’s reaction as we’d driven from the press conference to the hotel. “Well, just make sure you keep that up now,” he’d said, or words to that effect.
    The insinuation that only if I kept winning would he be satisfied, that no more mistakes would be allowed, momentarily popped my balloon.
    Bob should never have doubted me. My teammates—most of my teammates, at least—never had, and my faith in them was bulletproof. The next day’s stage, another flat one to Gueugnon on the edge of Burgundy, was going to reflect that and, I think now, would encapsulate in a single sprint everything that was special about my understanding with Mark Renshaw.
    The team had headhunted Mark at the end of 2008, after Gerald Ciolek had signed for Milram and left me without a lead-out man. When our directeurs first mentioned Renshaw as a potential replacement, I’ll admit that I wasn’t particularly enthused. My only real contact with him prior to that had been physical, literally—I’d shoved him out of the way in a sprint in the 2008 Tour.
    Beyond that, I’d not really noticed him, which I didn’t think was a particularly good sign. But I’d given his hire my blessing anyway, and he’d joined. We’d got on well enough at training camps that winter, though to say that we’d hit it off instantly wouldn’t be strictly accurate. Mark is still fairly quiet, and at first you might think a bit standoffish. More to the point, our first race together had been the Tour of California in 2009, and our first sprint there had been