Ken Neil

bad to the bone

by James Waddington

Dedalus, #7.99

SOMEONE is killing the great cyclists of Europe, in James Waddington's fictional spin alongside the top racers in the Tour de France. Akil Saenz is a god on two wheels, surging ahead of the mere domestiques who struggle along in his wake. However, just as his glory is about to be confirmed forever, he begins to lose to riders who should not be in his slipstream, let alone snatching the yellow jersey from his grasp.

Behind this turn in his fortunes is Mikkel Fleischman, doctor of a rival team, who employs some secret means to help his own charges to the winner's podium. Unfortunately for them mental disintegration and a grisly death are the spoils of their victories.

High on Mount Ventoux, the racing cyclist's greatest challenge, the two men meet with Europe spread out below

them. Like the Devil to Saenz's Faust the unscrupulous doctor asks of him what he will risk to have it all.

In these days when no part seems free from allegations of drug abuse among its participants, Bad to the Bone is a timely study of what drives athletes to exert mere flesh and blood beyond reason and the moral and physical limits they grapple with as they do so. Top racing cyclists are among the fittest sportsmen in the world; few other mortals are expected to travel 4000km, climbing thousands of metres on the way, to win or lose sometimes by a margin of seconds over 21 days. What might they be tempted to do to win these seconds for themselves is the question which is the foundation of the book. On top of this Waddington (a keen cyclist himself judging by his jacket photo) structures a story that is part comedy, part thriller, and part homage to physical prowess. The humour is broad, at times scurrilous, and contrasts pleasingly with the lyricism of the race scenes; earthbound vulgar humans

versus angels in flight. The mystery elements are kept spinning by the investigations of Gabriela Gomelez, a policewoman who is determined that some justice be done for the dead racers.

It is to the author's credit that he blends these various ingredients without spoiling the mix by overloading it with too much technical detail. There is little mention of derailleurs, spoke tensions, or gear ratios. The cycling scenes feature the humans on the machines and their version of poetry in motion. This is a book for practising enthusiasts and armchair athletes alike.