The aristocrat
Among fans of the race at least, the biggest complaint regarding the modern Dakar is always along the lines of: ‘it’s not an adventure anymore, it’s just a race.’ A criticism that the 2020 edition, to be held entirely within the borders of Saudi Arabia, will struggle to redress. But as the epic 1987 battle for victory in the motorcycle class proves, up at the pointy end competitors have been giving 1001% to win the thing ever since the very irst edition in 1979, won by a certain Frenchman of Napoleonic stature and character, Cyril Neveu.
Fast forward eight years and the French public is in the grip of a Dakar frenzy. The previous year its charismatic creator Thierry Sabine, along with a pop star and a journalist, died in a helicopter accident while out looking for lost competitors. As is the way of these things, this drama pushed TV viewing figures for the following edition through the roof. At precisely 8pm every evening Mr and Mrs Tout le Monde sat down to find out who was winning the race on national news. It was regularly the lead story…
In the bike class a reality TV show producer would have been hard pushed to do a better job with the casting. The diminutive Neveu was still there, looking for his fifth win. He’d started out his Dakar career, pretty much like everybody else, on a lightly modified Yamaha XT500. A few years later he was aboard the gorgeous, pure HRC Honda NXR. Designed with the help of Guy Coulon, one of the three founding members of Motogp team Tech 3, he was then working for Honda’s all conquering endurance racing team. Producing a modest 74bhp, the 750 V-twin’s torque curve was virtually flat from 3000 to 7000 revs in an effort to stop it melting its puncture resistant mousse tyre inserts. In deference to its lead rider’s diminutive size it was relatively small and light, but fitted with a right-hand side stand so Neveu could kick it over standing on the pegs. It was said that its engine would run 1000 kilometres without oil. If the bike was a polished jewel of a thing its rider was a rough diamond. Born on the wrong side of the tracks, he was famous for his lack of social graces and massacring the French language. If he’d come into the parc ferme in a cape you’d have booed him.
His principal rival was another previous winner, but that was about all they had in common. Hubert Auriol, dubbed Le Bel Hubert by the French press, was tall, good looking and exercised impeccable manners. Related to the De Gaulle family, Auriol was pure French aristocracy. Ironically, aboard the Lucky Strike Ducati engined Cagiva, he was riding a brute of a bike, more parts-bin special than factory prototype, it ate mousses and rear tyres. It was rumoured he’d been offered a million dollar contract to ride the thing. In those days the Dakar went on for 21 days and the psychological pressure of riding those huge machines over such massive distances at speeds of up to 120mph was immense. 600-mile special stages with riders averaging 60mph weren’t unheard of. The intense media interest, with sponsors hiring planes to ferry journalists from bivouac to bivouac and the sheer amount of money involved did nothing to lighten the feverish atmosphere. As the race headed out of the Sahara and into the scrubby bush of northern Senegal it would appear that Auriol was managing the stress better than the considerably more emotive Neveu. The Honda rider was quicker but was making more
‘Auriol was pure French aristocracy… and was riding a brute of a bike, more parts-bin special than factory prototype’
navigation errors. The lead yo-yo’d for much of the race but now, starting the penultimate stage, Auriol enjoyed a more or less comfortable 12 minute lead.
As determined as ever, that didn’t stop Neveu attacking this last real stage of the rally like a man possessed. Arriving at the finish line first, TV images show the Honda rider almost beside himself, scanning the horizon for Auriol’s Cagiva to come into sight and nervously looking at his watch to see how much time he’d made up. As other riders arrived Cyril and the media tried to scavenge information. And it started to become clear that Auriol was in trouble. Apparently, he was heading towards the line at reduced speed. One competitor claimed to have stopped to help him get back on his bike. Finally, with Auriol’s lead now cut to three minutes, the big Cagiva crossed the line. The next day’s stage was just a few kilometres and like on the Tour de France, from which the Dakar had borrowed much of its etiquette, traditionally nobody challenged the overall leader on the Lac Rose special. It looked like Auriol would win by the slimmest of margins… but as the media surrounded what everybody imagined would be the next day’s winner
the drama went up several notches. With tears streaming down his face Hubert Auriol cried out: ‘I’ve two ankles… I’ve two ankles broken’. Lifted off his bike and laid down on the ground by the race’s medical team it turned out his diagnosis was right. Cutting his boots off in front of the TV cameras showed one ankle had an open fracture. He might have managed to ride like that for a 60 miles or so, but everybody knew he wouldn’t be able to get back on his bike the next day. Now transferred to a stretcher carried by what suspiciously looked like French soldiers with no insignia, Auriol added, ‘Cyril is too strong, this is the last time I race a bike on the Dakar.’ Cyril Neveu promptly burst into tears.
You can imagine how all this played out in the living rooms of the Hexangone. Auriol and Neveu were already household names. Overnight they became megastars. Ask any Frenchman or woman, over the age of 50, and they will be able to tell you what they were doing the evening they heard about ‘Blood boots’. And despite their differences
Neveu and Auriol briefly buried the hatchet to capitalise on their celebrity. A book ‘co-written’ by them, entitled Une histoire d’hommes became a best-seller and is still in print. True to his word Auriol switched to cars and went on to become the first man to win the Dakar in both categories. Cyril Neveu persevered with bikes before moving to cars but would never win another Dakar. Only Stephane Peterhansel has won more. The Honda NXR would in the end chalk up four consecutive victories to win every Dakar it entered. Both Auriol and Neveu went on to become successful rally organisers in their own right and Hubert Auriol has just published a new book entitled TDSPP, the title taken from the road book note that translates as ‘straight on, on the main track’. It has become an instant best-seller.
⏢ This month’s Folklore tale teller, Chris Evans, worked for Cyril Neveu for 12 years and was hired by Auriol to work on the Dakar in 1997. Chris still works for organisers ASO. They say you should never meet your heroes, but he is very happy he did.
‘Cutting his boots off in front of the TV cameras showed one ankle had an open fracture… he wouldn’t be able to get back on his bike the next day’