Friday The 13th: A Search For The Truth

This article is about a British professional cyclist named Tommy Simpson, who died in 1967 on a mountain in France.

It is also about how I have learned some lessons on treating all sources with caution. Just because something has been printed in a book, or appears on an apparently impeccable website, that does not mean it is accurate.

Nor can my own memories be trusted, I have discovered. They can be dim shadows of the truth, or they can be faithless illusions.

Last week we had a Friday the 13th, and thoughts of Tommy Simpson came into my tired old brain.

What triggered the connection was undoubtedly the memory of Simpson dying on Friday the 13th, on the 13th stage of the Tour de France.

Simpson was the first English professional cyclist to be internationally successful, and the first to wear the yellow jersey of a Tour de France leader.

Thinking the Simpson story might be Bleacher article material, I began researching.

I soon came across a BBC article on Simpson. There follows a quote:

"Friday 13, 1967 was the 13th day of that year's Tour de France and racers were tackling the treacherous 6,000ft (1829m) Mt Ventoux.

In the searing heat Tommy Simpson began weaving across the road before slipping off his bike.

After ordering onlookers to, 'Put me back on my bike' Tommy continued only a short distance before he collapsed and lost consciousness."

That chimed with my memories, and the BBC ought to be an impeccable source. The BBC and I were supported by Pro Cycling News, which quoted Simpson as saying "My lucky number is 13. My daughter was born on Friday the 13th, my wife also. Perhaps Friday, stage 13, will be lucky, too."

That quote about Simpson's Friday the 13th family is scattered across the Internet like confetti after a windy day wedding.

However, I continued along the research trail, and something very strange happened.

I found that there was no Friday the 13th in July 1967. An Internet calendar established that for me, and I was somewhat shaken.

It proved to me that my own memory is unreliable, and that Internet sources can be unreliable or even dishonest. For if there was no Friday the 13th in July 1967 then Simpson could not have said what has been so widely attributed to him; he could not have hoped for a lucky Friday 13th.

I found myself chasing the answers to some silly questions. Was Simpson's wife Helen really born on the unlucky day? Were either of his daughters?

In my fascination with the Friday the 13th, I had lost sight of Simpson the man.

This Is The Story

In 1967 Tommy Simpson finished the first week of the Tour de France in contention for honours, he was sixth overall. The next week he had a stomach bug, and fell down the rankings, but he remained optimistic that he could get back up the leader board.

On Thursday 13th July 1967 Simpson set from Marseilles on the 13th stage of the race.

It was a scorching hot day, but at that time tour organisers limited riders to two litres of water per day. Riders would circumvent the two-litre rule by visiting roadside bars and cafes; Simpson was seen to drink brandy early in the day.

Later on, Simpson was toiling up Mont Ventoux in Provence, which was the day’s main climb. Some way short of the summit, Simpson started to wobble, and then fell off his cycle.

After his team support car stopped to help him, Simpson re-mounted and continued, but only for about 500 metres before he slumped over the handlebars and crashed to the ground.

The support team quickly realised that their athlete had stopped breathing, and gave him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Heart massage and oxygen were supplied by the tour doctor, but to no avail.

Simpson was dead. He was 29 years old.

On the day after the tragedy other riders in the tour were reluctant to continue. They agreed to complete Stage 14 only on condition that a British rider be allowed to win it; the man chosen was Barry Hoban, who was later to marry Simpson's widow Helen.

Aftermath

After his death, Simpson became an instant national hero in Britain. People who had never heard of him, or professional cycling, or the Tour de France, were regaled with the story his heroic death from exhaustion.

In the days and weeks that followed, the facts behind the Mont Ventoux tragedy emerged.

Alcohol and amphetamines were found in Simpson’s blood. He had died of asphyxiation, too doped to know that he had ridden beyond his limits. In his jersey satchel, three glass tubes were found, one was empty and the other two contained amphetamine tablets.

More drugs were found in his hotel room, and the team’s baggage car. The particular amphetamine stimulants found were Stenamina and Tonedrin, under French law both were illegal for athletes to take.

It was obvious to all that Tommy Simpson was unlikely to have been the only professional cyclist resorting to drugs.

And it is only fair to to point out that Simpson’s fellow cyclists, amateur and professional, have never lost respect for him, and his memorial on Mont Ventoux is still maintained by British cyclists.

In the past 40+ years the organisers of international cycling have fought a long battle against performance-enhancing drugs, with questionable success. The Tour de France has come very close to being destroyed by drugs scandals, and may yet succumb.

We who do not cycle competitively, do not sprint, do not run beyond the natural limits of human endurance, have an easy option.

When an athlete tests positive for banned substances we can despise them, we can call for them to be banned for life, we can pretend that they were not conforming to the norm in their sport.

For the individual who competes at the top level, things are not so simple.

Tommy Simpson took the pills. What else could he do?