Another for the Accountant

France's Jacques Anquetil, 29, is the world's best bicycle racer--and one of its most unpopular athletes. A one-time baker's helper from Sotteville (literally: Stupidville) in Normandy, he makes a fetish of independence--testily ignoring fans, truculently snubbing opponents, even going so far as to wear his watch on his right wrist, simply because most people wear theirs on the left. Critics complain that Anquetil "does not like to suffer" (a quality Frenchmen demand in heroes) and that he races "like an accountant" (always conserving his strength, never taking risks). "Jacques," his coach once argued, "you are strong enough to win in the mountains, to win at the sprint. If you would just go all out a few times, people would recognize you as the great champion you are." Replied Anquetil: "Any more suggestions?"

Over the Hill? Anquetil can afford to be rude. He is the only cyclist ever to win all three of Europe's top marathon races--the Tour de France, the Giro d'ltalia and the Vuelta a Espana. He once set a world record by covering 46,159 km. (about 29 miles) in one hour and he has won the Grand Prix des Nations, a kind of World Series of bike racing, seven times. The sport pays him $150,000 a year, and he lives in champagne luxury--beautiful blonde wife, country house near Rouen, Mercedes sports car, outboard motorboat for weekend cruises on the Seine. Success, in fact, has so spoiled Anquetil that he tried to beg out of this month's Tour de France. "My morale is no good," he said. Ah, ha! cried sportswriters, who decided that Anquetil was finally over the hill. Oh no! cried his sponsors--a bicycle manufacturer and an aperitif firm, who were counting on Jacques to spread their gospel through the provinces. Oh well, sighed Anquetil, and sullenly hopped aboard his fragile racing bike and pedaled off with the pack. What happened? Anquetil won for the fourth time, another record, and the third year in a row.

To Frenchmen, the 22-day Tour is not just a race; it is an obsession. It attracts upwards of 15 million spectators, boosts daily newspaper sales by 10%, virtually ensures a 40% boost in business for cafes and shops lucky enough to be located along the route. And it is as punishing as it is popular. This year's 2,570-mile Tour started northward from Paris into Belgium, doubled back through Anjou and Aquitaine to the Pyrenees, swung straight across the south of France, then cut back across the Alps to Paris. On the flat, racers had to average 25 m.p.h. just to keep up, in the mountains, the thin air cruelly strained their lungs, and hazards lurked around each hairpin turn. Collisions were common, and the casualty rate was enormous: at the end, only 78 out of 130 starters were still on their bikes.

Through the Alps. Throughout the early stages of the race, Anquetil calmly pedaled along, setting his own pace, letting opponents wear themselves out fighting for the right to wear the maillot jaune, the yellow jersey that goes to the overall leader at the end of each day's run. His chief competitor was Spain's Federico Bahamontes, 35, the "Eagle of Toledo," who won the Tour in 1959 and is noted for his speed in the mountains. And on the 17th day out, Anquetil decided, for once, not to play it quite so cool. He would challenge Bahamontes at his own game--in the Alps. All through the day, Anquetil and Bahamontes fought it out, wheel to wheel, charging boldly up one side, plunging madly down the other, pumping furiously for hours at a stretch without ever looking up from the road. At day's end the exhausted racers wobbled into Chamonix, and it was Anquetil's turn to wear the maillot jaune, for the first time in the race.

He was still wearing it last week when he pedaled across the finish line in Paris' Pare des Princes Stadium. For the moment at least, French fans forgot their distaste for the haughty "accountant." "Anktil! Anktil! Anktil!" they chanted deliriously.

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