Sport: Making of an Emperor

Big-time bicycle racing is no sport for the squeamish. Perilous and punishing, it promises lung-searing fatigue, bone-smashing crashes, and the kind of nasty guerrilla warfare among competitors better employed in the jungle. Racers have been known to ram each other off mountain curves, to strew tacks in the road behind them, to urinate into the wind so that it blows back in the eyes of their opponents. So taxing is the sport that few champions enjoy a long reign.

But one man who has been on top—or near it—for twelve years is Belgium's hawknosed Rik Van Looy. To his fans, Van Looy is "the Emperor." To his competitors, he is "the Devil." Badge of the Fastest. At 28, an age at which cyclists were once considered washed up, Van Looy is at his peak, winner of more races (323) than any other cyclist in the world. He has won the world road-racing championship the last two years running, and he proudly wears the rainbow-striped shirt that is the badge of the world's best cyclist. For all this, he earns $140,000 a year, owns a $100,000 California-style home in the town of Herentals, and his narrow, haughty face peers out from billboards and posters all over Europe, selling everything from beer to razor blades.

"I think only of victory," he says, and those who know him can believe it. On those rare occasions when he is home, Van Looy is all work: before dawn each morning, he struggles out of bed, climbs on his bike and does his "daily 50"-a 50-kilometer grind over the quiet roads around Herentals. He has little time for friends, even less for his fans. He smiles only under duress, refuses to sign autographs, pose for pictures or answer questions before a race. His vocation has deformed his body, leaving him with a bony chest and shoulders, arms that are stumpy and weak. He runs only with difficulty, and he cannot even walk very far without agonizing cramps. But Van Looy's massive, muscle-knotted legs can power a lightweight (17 Ibs.) aluminum racing bike at a speed of 30 m.p.h. for hours on end (40 m.p.h. in a sprint), and on the anything-goes racing circuit, nobody can match his stamina, his audacity, or the intensity of his preparations for victory.

Red Guard. Van Looy studies his opponents as a mongoose studies cobras, searching for signs of injuries that may slow them down or force them to change their regular pattern of racing. He memorizes every course, locating trouble spots where accidents or traffic jams are likely to occur, picking his spots for passing and for his final sprint. Like most top racers, he employs a flying squad of domestiques, whose job is not to win themselves but to harry opponents, ride in front to break the wind, trade bikes if Van Looy's breaks down, and ensure that he has clear sailing for his sprint to the finish. Most domestiques are hired for their brawn, not their racing ability. But Van Looy's eleven-man, cardinal-jerseyed "red guard" is a cut above the average. The guard took three years to assemble, and each of them is nearly as fast as the boss. They make up to $600 a month, sometimes are even permitted to win a minor race.

Even with his red guard helping to clear the way, the Emperor takes his knocks.