Eddy Merckx to the Rescue!
By Bob Roll
The greatest bike racer of all time.
I love riding my bike no handed as we used to brag about as children. If you couldn't ride no handed, man you just didn't cut it. Even today after half a million miles on bicycles, riding without my hands reminds me of the joys of first learning to ride a bike and then becoming competent in the eyes of my peers.
I never thought riding no handed would ever get me in any trouble, except of course if an unexpected crosswind knocked me on my keister. Well so far, no crosswind has been strong enough. But when I raced and trained in Belgium, getting into trouble was quite easy.
One day while training in between absurdly hard spring classics, I was rolling down the bridge over the Leie Canal and the rain started to piss down. I went for my rain jacket in my jersey's back pocket and put it on, necessitating both hands off the bars. After I got the rain jacket on, I left my hands off the bars, enjoying the last few moments of dry shorts.
Buuurrreeeeyyy?Suddenly the goofy sirens of the Belgian Rijswacht (highway patrol) came flying up behind me from out of nowhere. I thought somebody just wrecked their Citroën deux chevaux up the road and was surprised when the cop car slide to a screeching halt in front of me.
Two flabby Belgian red-in-the-face storm troopers jumped out of the car and tried to tackle me as I tried to go around them. "What the hell is your problem"? I asked, trying to remember if I had broken any of ten thousand traffic laws.
"Papers," said fat copper #1. I said "sorry." "Oh and auch and chat verdome. No papers"?! They couldn't believe it. I said I never carry my passport while training in Belgium because it will get ruined in the rain or lost out of my pocket.
"Hoch and such and millardejoee," they said cursing like lunatics. "Name"?! They asked. "Bob Roll," I said, "and why did you pull me over and interrupt my training"?
"You must NOT RIDE NO HANDS IN BELGIUM"! they said. "B_ _ _ _ _ _t"! I said. "Ohh hoch auch"! they said. "You must come with us." "Why"? I asked. "To prove who you are and pay five-thousand Bfrancs fine," they said.
'"Are you crazy? Five-thousand Bfrancs"?!, I screeched, beginning to seriously panic as I was very unwilling to pay $200 for riding no handed. "What kind of fascist philistines are you"?, I asked in quick California surfer drawl so they might not catch the derogatory bits.
They caught it all and grabbed for my bike. "Wait"! I yelled in real panic with rising adrenaline and testosterone secretions that have been known to lead to unfortunate happenstance.
In one last desperate act to avoid any further escalation of hostility, I blurted out "Call Eddy Merckx"! Eddy was making our bikes and the team and I had lunch with him the day before. Merckx's name is akin to calling the Pope in Rome. The cops froze in their tracks. They gave me a long, cold look and I pointed to the EM logo on my jersey and they returned to their car. They got on their radio, and about three minutes later, just drove away. "Ahhh! What a relief."
The next time I saw Eddy, I asked if the cops called him from the bridge over the Leie Canal. He said, "Oh yes they did." "What did you tell them"? I asked. "Oh, I said the pros have a special law whereby they can ride no hands," he said.
I realized then that Eddy Merckx is more than the greatest bike racer off all time, he is also a great guy.