Sunday Best

 At the best of times I found cycling, especially competitive cycling, very difficult.

I knew early on that I lacked that all important mental strength to get through the pain barrier which was an absolute necessity for those who progressed to great things and so that left me with just sheer energy and a desire not to be too embarrassed as main motivations in the sport.

Those rather weak and feeble qualities did however give me a memorable time on two wheels with a couple of trophies (my surname spelt wrongly on both), brief mention in the event reports of local newspapers (if they had any interest in the minority sport as it used to be) and all importantly an appearance in bold type in the pre-eminent Cycling Weekly for my sole career victory, albeit yet again misspelt.

I was late to cycling having bought my first decent race-ready bike when aged 23 and it was not until I joined a racing club in Nottingham in my student years in the early 1980's that I applied myself to serious participation and all of the fitness, diet and equipment that it entailed.

I happened one dark winter night to attend at a Scout Hut on a main road in the Mapperley area of the city where the owners of a bike shop had mentioned that a local cycle racing club had meetings on a weekday evening.

It could have turned out badly given that I was a student well away from home, a bit of a geek and with a tendency to speak with a clear, neutral if rather southern accent even though I had lived in the north of England for most of my life.

It was film night for the club members and I arrived just in time to see the grainy opening frames of a 1974 movie called "Stars and Watercarriers".

At face value not the most powerful or engaging title but its subject matter, the previous year's Tour of Italy stage race really captured my interest and I was immediately hooked on cycling and it would become an overriding passion for the rest of my life. My short period at that club ranks amongst my best for friendship and support.

That inspirational film was by the Danish Director, Jorgen Leth who established himself as a leading figure in experimental documentary film making.

In 1977 he released what is widely regarded as the most admired cycling documentary of all time- "A Sunday in Hell" which covered in exceptional and revolutionary detail the 1976 Paris Roubaix one day classic cycle race.

Even to those with no interest in two wheeled pedalling the event will be familiar in name although for all of the wrong reasons. 2018 saw the tragic death of a young Belgian Professional rider, Michael Goolaerts after a crash on one of the cobbled sections of the epic 160 mile Monument Status event.

Leth was able to capture the spirit and meaning of the race in a style and real time format that had just never been seen on the big screen before.

It was an accurate representation of the pain, anguish and suffering of the riders over the six or so hours of racing but also depicted the mundane preparations of the pro-teams and the excitement of the crowds on the roadside along its route. Anything going before it on celluloid was in comparison a bit staged, stagnant and over-edited and lacking any sense of reality.

Leth had to plan his filming meticulously and on that day in April 1976 he mobilised some 27 cameramen who were mounted as pillion on motorcycles, in team cars accompanying the race, at static positions on the route and using the relatively new method of airborne filming from a helicopter.

There is a very low key opening sequence to the documentary with a lone team mechanic working on one of the racing bikes. The rattle and hum of the chain being run between the rear sprocket and the rings of the crankset is at first strangely and hypnotically calming but as a foretaste of the racing ahead it is strangely ominous.

The key riders are then shown arriving with that year's main protagonists including Merckx, De Vlaeminck and Moser sporting either casual suits or functional trackies.

There is no intrusion into the concentration of their race preparations by a microphone wielding reporter but just the reserved and enigmatic tone in voice over of the commentator, David Saunders.

Leth's race coverage is vibrant and the footage is able to capture moments which would otherwise be too fleeting to be even noticed.

The faces of the riders are gritty and graphic in their exertions over the wide roads and treacherous farm track cobbles. Two road blockages during the race by demonstrating print workers are fully detailed from piles of discarded newspaper on the carriageway to the riders being forced to make their way through the picket line in single file and to have protest stickers slapped on the backs of their jerseys.

Spectators are candidly shown having a picnic as they wait for the race to pass or congregating in bars and cafes along the route. It is as much a community and social event as a classic bike race.

That years event was in dry weather and instead of the slippery quagmire that is usually associated with the early April running the film has sequences shrouded in choking dust clouds so that the dispersed field of riders can be identified over miles of distance in the wide panning helicopter shots.

We may feel that in today's TV cycling  coverage we are seeing the absolute pinnacle of technology and presentation but the combination of Leth's artistic treatment and skilful cinematography are for the era well ahead of their time.

In all some 35 hours of film made it to the editing suite and with the 6 hour real time racing condensed into the one hour and fifty one minutes of a masterpiece.

I find myself drawn every few months or so to "A Sunday in Hell" as it is compelling viewing.

The bikes are old school with narrow metal tubing, prominent handlebar sprouting cables, downtube gear levers and copper studded saddles. The riders are wearing wool mix trade team jerseys and shorts and just simple cotton caps rather than hard shell helmets.

The efforts of the riders are no less mythical and heroic.

Put aside some time and catch this amazing film, perhaps for the first time............

A Sunday in Hell (Jorgen Leth 1977)