Bygone Bicyclist

So it’s been a while. I feel I’ve been completely swamped with all kinds of everything since my return to Phoenix. My most important task, finding a more tour friendly wheel, has been on the sidelines, yelling at me to actually pull the trigger. Needless to say, I haven’t been doing the things I want to be doing. Work and income plague those who dream, don’t they?

I figured the following was suitable with the impending Tour de France (TDF) going on. I stumbled across the name a week before the Tour started, and am eternally curious of the possible connection! Family history is something I find entrancing. The possibility that a long lost cousin or something raced, won and became the first foreigner to win the Tour is exciting.

François Faber
Champion cycliste Luxembourgeois

François Faber was born in Luxembourg in 1887. Less than a year prior, Thomas Stevens finished his trip around the world via penny farthing. There is no doubt that any cyclist of the era indeed did ride a pfar from time to time. Like most, he did the work he could while an amateur, but soon went professional and began some fantastic history. Riding the TDF for the first time, in 1906, he didn’t even finish. In 07, he placed 7th. The following year, placed 2nd, and even won two stages (daily race). Faber must have been a known name during that time.

The 1909 Tour rolls around, and history begins. Arguably the worst weather in Tour history, François pedaled on, creating a record that still stands today – five consecutive stage wins. TDF of the past hardly compares to current. When roads were nothing but cobblestone and dirt, bicycles had one gear – fixed – and weather made for a miserable or casual day. Mud, snow, potholes, rain and ice plagued the 09 Tour. Stage three started with the temperature just above freezing (in July!). Faber finished the day soaked in mud, 33 minutes before his main contender, French rider Gustave Garrigou. Stage four was to leave Belfort at 2 in the morning, despite the worsening weather. Faber attracted thousands for his daily set off, and tens of thousands for his arrival at the finish line. Winning stage five after being blown off his bicycle twice by torrential winds, once being knocked down by a horse, riding through potholes and knee-high water and even *breaking his chain* and being forced to run the last kilometre into Lyon…winning another stage. Faber emerged victorious in 1909, but a major injury thanks to a stray dog in 1910 ultimately cost him the next year’s win.

Teammate Lucien Petit-Breton wrote of Faber’s lack of confidence early in his racing career, stating Faber would stop at a bar or restaurant, waiting for the “champions”.

I told you he’d be head and shoulders better. Not only did he show I was right but he let his pals Garrigou, Alavoine, Duboc and van Hauwaert take the first six places. And he went even further [il a même forcé la note] in giving seventh place to his half-brother! I can still recall when he started, in 1906, with the isolés. He set off from the start with his handlebars up high and he stayed at the back of the group all the time, riding on the wheel of the best riders. He was young, with no confidence in himself. His only wish was to be the last of the isolés to stay with the champions. Sometimes he stopped at a bar and ate his sandwiches as he waited for his ‘colleagues’, to finish the day in their company, because he didn’t like being alone. After last year’s Tour, I hadn’t any doubts about his immense possibilities.

Faber won 27 total races, and 19 Tour de France stages before being shipped out by the French Foreign Legion (FFL) for World War I. François received a telegram May 9th, 1915, stating his wife had given birth to their first child – a daughter. Rumor has it, upon receiving the telegram, he jumped for joy at the news, and was killed by a German sharpshooter. The more widely accepted story includes Faber being shot while carrying an injured soldier from “no-man’s land” at Carency & Mont-Saint-Éloi. His FFL regiment lost nearly 2,000 of their 3,000 strong group during the attack. Faber was lastly awarded with the Médaille militaire.

What makes that so compelling to me besides the similar last name?

• He was born in Luxembourg, as was his father. My great-great grandfather was as well born in Luxembourg, right around the late 1800s.
• Nicknamed “de reus van Colombes” (the Giant of Colombes), François weighed in at 91 kilograms (roughly 200 lbs) and stood 1.88 metres tall (6′ 2”). Every story I hear of my great and great-great grandfathers is their massive size, with hands frighteningly large.
• Faber! Need I say more?

It’s no doubt the Fabers of late knew of François. The real question: is there a tie between us? Who wouldn’t like to believe such a character was distant relative? Perhaps one day we will know the truth. I rest my case!

For a while I’ve tried to find a clever way to note on a post I came across two or three weeks ago. Katie, a fantasmic person from my summer wrote so perfectly an excerpt of my life (and she didn’t even know it). Strangely enough, until I read it, I hadn’t actually thought about it. Now that I have, it rings so true to my life though. Who said it was okay (and possible) to have a crush on EVERYONE!? Cut it out, me. Seriously.

On a side note, I’m finally a little more pleased with life’s direction as of late. I’m spending more time with my studies, and that is a huge miss of mine from the last few months. More riding, singing, cooking and joy fill my days, and…well, who can complain about that, right?

I love crepes, and cannot stop making them.

I finally finished (re)painting one of my bikes. It turned out so surprisingly gorgeous, and I love riding it (even more so now), even if it is a crappy Nishiki conversion. On the note of bicycles: My damage claim for my damn-near-new Bianchi from this summer is finally turning a positive face. I’m being told my check is on the way, which means five months of waiting, complaining and hoping has finally paid off.

Some random pictures of a recent Faber car