Near the end of his career, Fausto Coppi expressed regret that he had never made a second attempt at the hour record. For a cyclist who twice won the Giro and the Tour in the same year and for whom there were few races missing from his palmarès, his somewhat botched, albeit successful, attempt at the hour record during the Second World War remained unsatisfactory. The attempt was unsatisfactory in part because he was not in the best shape of his career, because of the strictures of the war, and in part because he had not devoted himself to the effort, not wearing aerodynamic kit during the effort and having warmed up by riding the more than 90 kilometers from his home in Castellania to the Velodrome Vigorelli in Milan to attempt the record. Furthermore, the lack of international comity at the time made it difficult for non-Italians to verify the record and that along with the eventual narrowness with which he beat the record (31 meters) cast doubt on its legitimacy. These reasons were enough to make anyone want a second attempt, but the main reason for Coppi was that he wanted to take a real shot at it after the war when amphetamines had been drastically improved, and he could use the better ‘chemicals’, as he called them. However, as it turned out, he never did take another run at the hour record, instead focusing his last big effort on the 1953 World Championships, which he won, and Coppi’s hour record would stand until 1956 when Jacques Anquetil, another rider who freely discussed his use of pharmacological solutions to the problems of cycling, would break it by 360 meters.
The most striking thing about Fallen Angel: The Passion of Fausto Coppi, however, is not this now surprising candor about doping, but rather how elusive the protagonist remains throughout the book. William Fotheringham does a good job of filling in the background, the rivals, the coaches, the love interests and the spear carriers, but throughout the book there seems to be a void at the center of the painting. Initially one feels that perhaps Fotheringham has missed his mark, that he has failed to successfully flesh out the main character. However, as the book proceeds, one gets the feeling that it is not the fault of the author, but rather a characteristic of the subject. Coppi himself was somewhat elusive, and as a quiet man who had become a great champion and hero, he remained removed from the events around him, and as the mythology that grew up around him after his death it further obscured the man at the center of the legend. This towering mythology is particularly impressive for someone who died a mere 50 years ago. One then forgives Fotheringham for the mystery remaining at the center, but still wishes that he had done more to engage with the fact that his title character was so mysterious, and to understand how that affected his life, his racing, and our understanding of it all.
Since we never fully get to the heart of Coppi himself, we are brought into his life by the key personal and professional relationships of his life. Growing up in a small town in Italy, Coppi had strong ties to his family and to his Catholic faith (a relationship, with the church at least, that would sour in later years). Surrounded by this strong support system, Fotheringham portrays Coppi as somewhat weak willed (a fact belied by his many victories), and suggests that it was his brother Serse who provided the necessary mental support for the elder, more talented Coppi brother, especially at times of crisis for Fausto. Although, a much less talented cyclist, Serse provided balance for Fausto as Fausto shot to the top of the cycling world. This relationship was crucial for Fausto and because of the bond helping Serse win Paris-Roubaix in 1949 to be one of the most satisfying accomplishments of his career. The efforts were not even entirely athletic in nature, because final victory took several months to certify, and Serse ended up sharing it with André Mahé. The reason for this somewhat odd turn of events was that Mahé and his other compatriots in what appeared to be the winning break were accidentally directed away from the entrance to the velodrome in Roubaix. When they discovered the error they walked in a side door and then climbed through the press box and down to the track to contest the sprint, which Mahé won. Serse then led in the peloton by the conventional method and won a sprint to the line that he initially thought was for fourth place. Given the irregularities, Serse and Mahé were, in the end following much wrangling, jointly given the victory. Fausto, for his part, would get his first and only Paris-Roubaix title the following year.
In addition to Serse, the main source of stability in Fausto’s professional life was his blind trainer, Biagio Cavenna. With Cavanna’s help Coppi made up for any lack of confidence he may have possessed with rigorous and scientific preparation and training, and a willingness to experiment with different methods to improve his performance. Beginning his career just as the derailleur was being introduced Coppi, along with Cavenna, would help to drag cycling into the modern era and towards modern training methods. Before Coppi, training mainly consisted of going out for a long hard ride. One simply maintained as high pace as possible for the duration of the ride. Coppi and Cavenna, however, began to understand the importance of varying one’s effort and were among the first to introduce interval training into cycling workouts.
Their innovation was not limited to the road, Coppi was willing to experiment with new methods in other areas as well. He eagerly experimented with variations in diet, both generally and specifically during races. The conventional wisdom when Coppi came onto the scene that you should eat a large, heavy meal before the race and then start eating on the bike a couple hours into the race. Coppi decided that a small meal and eating more regularly during the race was a better approach, one that would be born out with future riders. In addition, despite being raised in a conventional Italian farm family, he was willing to experiment with different diets, including new-fangled ideas from Hollywood. From this willingness to experiment with diet and training, one can understand why Coppi also embraced the new ‘chemicals’, they were widely praised by the medical community after the war and they provided another realm in which to experiment and try to improve one’s performance.
Coppi’s approach to training and diet were in contrast to his greatest rival, Gino Bartali, who was slightly older and was the established champion of Italian cycling when Coppi burst on the scene by winning the 1940 Giro d’Italia at the age of 20. In a grand rivalry that was partly manufactured to help sell newspapers and bicycle races, Bartali was portrayed as a conservative, pious Catholic, while Coppi was portrayed as a rebel and socialist, despite also being a devout Catholic. In riding style they were both successful at long breakaways in an era that still rewarded such tactics. However, even at a time when brutal stages and uneven roads made solo attacks more likely to succeed than they are in the modern era, Coppi was known for his one-man, race-winning breakaways and became known by the journalist Mario Farretti’s description of one of his attacks for victory: un uomo solo è al commando, one man is in the lead, in command. Although, Bartali long remained as the counterpoint to Coppi, Coppi’s style on the bike and his early death cemented his victory in the long term battle for Italian cycling fans hearts.
In contrast to his innovations that helped to launch modern cycling, Coppi’s personal life was marked by three, now seemingly unnecessary, tragedies caused by reactionary moral prescriptions and primitive medical knowledge. First, was his brother Serse, who died in 1951 two years after his greatest victory at Paris-Roubaix. Like many cyclists of the time (and like Bartali’s brother), Serse died from inadequate medical care after crashing during a race. After getting caught in a crash with Fausto and other teammates at a railroad crossing and hitting his head, the severity of his injury was not understood, and Serse simply went back to the hotel to rest and sleep. Unfortunately the injury was much more serious than recognized at first and by the time his condition was understood it was too late. This tragic death of his brother and loss of a confident, supportive voice proved very hard for the elder Coppi to take, and, again like Bartali after his own brother’s racing death, he initially found it hard to continue his career.
The second tragedy, was related to his marriage, or more accurately his divorce. Having married young, during the war, Coppi’s marriage did not survive the rigors of a racing cyclist, especially one who kept competing throughout the winter by racing on the track. Having a young daughter, this separation would have been unfortunate enough, but after the war the Catholic church was trying to maintain its dwindling hold on Italian life and tried to block Coppi from getting a divorce or separating from his wife. The furor caused by the church and others who were purportedly concerned with Italian morals, pressured the government to pursue Coppi and it eventually prosecuted Coppi and his mistress for adultery. The fallout from the divorce would last the rest of his life and Coppi deeply resented the prosecution, feeling that he was only being made an example of because of his fame.
Finally, there was his own death. Coppi died of malaria after participating in a cycling exhibition in the Republic of the Upper Volta (now Burkina Faso) as a favor to one of his French cycling friends. Coppi and three of his companions spent one night of their journey without mosquito netting. When they each went back to their respective homes, Coppi and two of the others fell ill and the doctors were mystified. The two French riders were (it appears, without knowing they had malaria) fortuitously treated with quinine and made full recoveries. Coppi, on the other hand, despite the fact that malaria had only recently been eradicated from Italy, was not given quinine and quickly succumbed to his illness.
Despite his many accomplishments and despite living on the cusp of the modern era, Coppi remains mysterious throughout the book. Despite, or because of, being an Italian legend, Coppi managed to keep much of himself obscured from public view. Since much of his private life was raked through the coals for all to see, it is perhaps reassuring that he managed to retain something of himself that could not be accessed by history. Even with his domestiques and children still alive and answering questions, Coppi remains a man alone, plunging ahead to the next climb, without even Bartali knowing what he is thinking, how he is feeling, or how the ‘chemicals’ are affecting him.
Tags: Fallen Angel, Fausto Coppi, Gino Bartali, malaria, William Fotheringham
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