The words were directed at Bernard Hinault. Yes, I did say Bernard Hinault, no less. We were in Italy at the start of the 1983 season and our Breton was really struggling: yet again his winter training had clearly left a bit to be desired. So one evening at the dinner table after he had harangued us for going too hard during a team time trial, I couldn’t resist the urge to say what I thought. Out came this slightly aggressive sentence. It came out of my mouth without any forethought. My choice of words caused a collective shiver to go around the dinner table. And something amazing happened. I was expecting a violent reaction from the four-times winner of the Tour de France, but instead he simply looked at his plate. Guimard told me a long time after this episode occurred that from that moment he was convinced that there would be trouble between me and Hinault. There never was. Fate would soon send the Badger and me down different paths, but neither of us knew that was coming yet. Today, it’s hard to put into words quite how foolhardy I was that evening.
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