Just imagine for a moment that it’s 17th April 1949 and you are a 29-year-old professional cyclist riding for Stella-Dunlop with a handful of decent results over a five-year career. Today you are in Saint-Denis, a northern suburb of Paris, the city where you were born. You are standing astride your bike among 215 other riders, ready for the 47th edition of the most revered one-day race in the calendar: Paris-Roubaix.
The flag drops. Ahead lies 244km of rough, cobblestoned roads then a sprint on the Roubaix velodrome to the finish line. At least the weather is kind – ‘a beautiful spring morning’ is how will later describe it – and you are feeling good. A fortnight ago you took fifth at the Critérium National, and while you aren’t among the favourites here – Rik Van Steenbergen, Fausto Coppi, Louison Bobet, Fiorenzo Magni and Émile Idée – you finished ninth last year. You are André Mahé, and you know how to ride the cobbles of Paris-Roubaix.
