The Rule Of Thirds Britons At Paris-Roubaix

In prestige, history and toughness, Roubaix has it all. What it is yet to have is a British winner. We foreign invaders have come pretty close on a few occasions though. Those that have climbed high spoke to Cycling Weekly, and relived the moments when they came oh-so-close to ultimate Classics glory

Barry Hoban 3rd, 1972

The first Briton to break into Paris-Roubaix podium history, Barry Hoban followed in the footsteps of fellow countryman Tom Simpson, who racked up four top-10s in total, the best being sixth in 1965. Hoban, after a promising 10th in 1970, finally experienced the view from the rostrum in 1972 after a hard-fought third in the face of a series of adversities.

Tom Simpson, who racked up four top-10s in total, the best being sixth in 1965. Hoban, after a promising 10th in 1970, finally experienced the view from the rostrum in 1972 after a hard-fought third in the face of a series of adversities.

After Roubaix that day Hoban, who was riding for the French Gan-Mercier team, lamented, “I could have won!” and he is no less sure of that now. “I say to this day that if I’d have been there when [Roger]De Vlaeminck went, he wouldn’t have dropped me,” he says. “And De Vlaeminck never, ever beat me in a sprint.”

Hoban — a Yorkshireman who speaks with a twang betraying his many years spent living in Belgium and France — is 79 now, but when he talks about his ride to Roubaix that day, it’s youthful, urgent, breathless — as if he crossed the finish line moments before and is relaying the tale for the first time.

The reason Hoban wasn’t there to give chase to Roger De Vlaeminck? His back wheel had nearly fallen apart, and he was chasing back up having got a spare. Neither was that his first chase back on — the first had been a lot tougher, having come after he’d been held up at one of the crucial junctures of the race: “I was up there with [Eddy] Merckx, [Walter] Godefroot, the whole lot, all the top guys,” Hoban recounts. “And we hit Arenberg, and you can guarantee that the day that I’m flying — bauw!” he splutters — “I puncture in the Arenberg.