The Mercenary - Part II

Francis Blanc always raced for money. The son of a hard-scrabble Canton Fribourg cheese farmer (Gruyère) grew up knowing that life was tough and one had to earn and earn well in order to make it through with a certain degree of comfort and safety.

Francis only took up racing at 20, but was Swiss Amateur Road Champion by 22, turning pro or rather, Independent, the following year for the Italo-Suisse Cynar team. Independents represented an interesting part of cycling history: racers who were floating agents, able to race national and international amateur events, but eligible too to be picked up by the big pro teams on short term contracts when needed. As Francis said.” We got to race more than anyone else.”

His big break happened at the 1965 Tour de Suisse. Francis, in super form, was working for teammate Alfred Rüegg, shepherding the former race winner through the peloton with a notable degree of excellence, riding his guts out to put his wares on display, so to speak. After doing his work and launching Rüegg into the finales, Francis kept finding himself with former Cynar teammate, Italian Vittorio Adorni then on the powerful Salvarani team. Adorni, who remains one of the most esteemed riders in history for the combination of his career – he won the World Professional Championships in 1968 with a 90-kilometer solo breakaway, finishing more than nine-minutes ahead of second place – and his diplomatic post-career service to cycling, was the Salvarani captain and needed a rider for his Tour de France squad. Pro teams were small in 1960’s, eight to twelve-man rosters was about it and many Italian riders, exhausted after the Giro d’Italia, often found the allure of the Viareggio’s beaches winning out over a July of suffering in France. Adorni gave Francis the spot, a big, lucrative gig for him, just what he’d been looking for. It was at the 1965 Tour that 23-year old Felice Gimondi, in his first year as a pro after having won the amateur Tour de l’Avenir, was brought into the Salvarani Tour team at the last minute. Gimondi, with Francis at his side, won that Tour de France and the great rival to Eddy Merckx was launched.

I was with Francis over Christmas with my friend and former teammate Gerald Oberson, laughing about our shared suffering during the tree harvest. “You were a true Thénardier !!” Gerald teased, referring to the abusive and corrupt characters in Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables.

We talked racing of course, and quite a bit about Jacques Anquetil and his arch-rival, the recently deceased Raymond Poulidor. Francis gave us a story about Mâitre Jacques that explained his enormous popularity among his fellow pros.

Anquetil fights Gianni Motta in the 1964 Giro d’Italia

It was the 1965 Critèrium du Dauphinè Libèrè, Anquetil was leading the race in his heroic gamble to win both the Dauphinè and, immediately after, the 600-kilometer, motor-paced Bordeaux-Paris (with only a few hours’ sleep between) in an attempt to raise his criterium fees and finally conquer the hearts of the French public. The stage was finishing near Geneva, and a break was two-minutes up the road including Roger Pingeon (who would win the Tour in 1967), Luis Otãno, and Anquetil’s Ford teammate Jacques Martin. Francis jumped away on a long climb to try and bridge the gap prompting Jean Stablinski, Anquetil’s road captain, to move to the front and chase. Anquetil went right up after “Stab”, put out his arm and yelled. “Stop! Leave the Swiss alone, he’s the “Regionale” and has the right to try his hand close to home. If he bridges, good for him, if not, nothing lost.” The Ford’s backed off, Francis closed the two-minutes but broke his toe clip and could only roll in for third.
Anquetil, in his famously distant manner, never spoke of that moment to Francis, but you can be sure that for the rest of his career, whenever Francis found himself next to Anquetil in the peloton, a gap would be closed, some protection from the wind would found, a space in the group opened up. Some favors can never be repaid and that’s how the big champions do it. I asked Francis if Anquetil was as perfect on his machine as the legends say: “Manifique! A stylist beyond anything you could imagine. He’s sit in the back of the peloton all day, but then Altig (Rudy Altig, the German hardcore of hardcores) or Stab would go fetch him, convince him to come race, then…well,(rueful laugh) you knew it was Jacques on the front, that’s for certain!”

Anquetil and Poulidor in their most famous battle on the Puy de Dôme volcano - 1964 Tour de France. Anquetil collapsed a the finish, having bluffed Poulidor the entire way up the climb into thinking he, the Great Anquetil, was unbeatable, The Norman… — Anquetil and Poulidor in their most famous battle on the Puy de Dôme volcano - 1964 Tour de France. Anquetil collapsed a the finish, having bluffed Poulidor the entire way up the climb into thinking he, the Great Anquetil, was unbeatable, The Norman basically colllapsed with 500 meters to the finish, and Poulidor took :42 out of him in that brief distane, :14 less than needed for Yellow. The two ended up as great friends, playing poker into the night together.

Poulidor was a different matter, wildly popular with the public but less so with his fellow riders. A story was told of a Tour stage where he finally had his chance to take the Yellow Jersey and, disastrously, punctured. A teammate rode right by without a glance, leaving Poulidor and his dream of Yellow abandoned on the side of the road. Poulidor did in fact make many gaffes, crashing at inopportune times, making odd tactical choices and had a particularly country French attitude towards money. Yet, as Francis put it, Poulidor, known as the “eternal second”, had a lot more wins (189) than second places. He felt that Poulidor, who came from tenant farmers in the deepest France (La France profonde) a place almost Appalachian in its isolation, was insecure and simply didn’t understand how to act in certain situations. But when a Swiss journalist wrote a particularly unflattering obituary of Poulidor, Francis got him on the phone and read him the riot act. “Why are you so mad?”, asked the writer. “Because you are damaging my sport!” Retorted Francis. Oh, if only others in the English-speaking cycling world would think like Francis.

By 1968 Francis was getting tired of racing for small money. He’d gotten good gigs along the way – he was known as a completely reliable rider who could do all of the normal sheltering and positioning work but still be good for the first 10-kilometers of a climb. Like a band hiring a bass player, he was someone who could fill a particular role. Francis had ridden the 1967 Tour that was the last one using national teams – as a member of the Luxembourg/Swiss combo team alongside Johny Schleck, father of the famous brothers – yet was thinking about hanging up the bike and concentrating on his horticultural business. “One last shot,” he told himself, “If I can get a big contract, I’ll keep going.”

Francis went down to the Côte d’Azur and entered Genoa-Nice, finding himself at the top of the final climb with 15 riders including Gianni Motta, the 1966 Giro winner and sponsor of the first team from the United States to race a Grand Tour. Francis had his humble club jersey on and Gianni asked if he was out of contract. Francis responded, “Yes, this is my last race.” The Italian said, ”Look we only have an eight-man roster and really need you. I’m going to talk to Albani (Giorgio Albani famed team director) and get you squared away. Come find me next week at Milano-Torino and it’ll all be set.”

Francis was furious on the start line in Milano as there were more than 300 riders – a giant peloton. It took him more than 100-miles to finally find Gianni, but once he did, the contract was in fact -as he wasn’t really sure and had taken a financial gamble to get there- arranged for him. Francis finished out the year, riding both the Giro and the Tour with Gianni, right up to the season-ending Tour of Lombardy, with over 44,000 kilometers in his legs from January to the beginning of October, averaging out to almost 5000 kilometers a month. His Colnago, one of Ernesto’s early one, is here:

https://www.speedbicycles.ch/velo/470/molteni_francis_blanc_1968.html

That was his last season. He’d served on the first-ever rider union representing Swizerland/Luxembourg, had raced on Salvarani and Molteni, two of the most fabled teams in cycling history, had been a member a winning Tour team, and most importantly, had parleyed his talents into money and a buy-in to life.

He ended up back in service to the sport when called on by the French Cycling Federation to help with their racers living in the south-east (From the Swiss border down through Grenoble and the south). Francis found that the French amateur riders were only doing a national program, so campaigned his South-Eastern selection all over Europe, from Spain to Belgium. When his riders took three out of the top five places in the national road championship, the FFC began to pay attention, and formed their new national program along the lines of his.

Gerald Oberson wondering where his Mangalicia lunch is…

Today, Francis lives a quiet life in his impeccably restored farmhouse. He refurnishes old bicycles, has a collection dating to the 19th century, and works with a neighbor to raise Mangalica pigs, the Hungarian breed with its curly, sheep-like coat, known for providing the Kobe Beef of pork. Francis cures his own hams and make his own, incredibly delicious sausages. His one son, Joel, is a Compagnons du Devoir et du Tour de France, a guild of artisans dating to the Middle Ages, who built many of the great cathedrals and today are the ones called upon to restore them. Joel built a 12-story wooden building in Strasborg, and has a waiting list, something like the mythical one of Richard Sachs – the sort where someone has to die in order to move up – of wealthy patrons for his chalets in Chamonix. His other two sons are most successful in their own rights.

After a fine day of food and stories, Francis sent Gerald and me home with sausages. I walked into the Chamonix area chalet where I was staying and announced: “Here is a sausage made by a teammate of Felice Gimondi’s Tour winning team, from Mangalica pork and in the ancient manner.” Try and top that one foodies! My friends and family descended on that sausage like wolves and instantly devoured it. He’s such a cool guy, Francis is. Everything he did or does is of the very highest quality and absolutely genuine. Francis and I have a lovely connection which is most important to me. I’m going back – if we ever begin to travel again- soon to hang with him and learn more about the golden age of racing.