Lake Taupo Cycle Challenge Guide: Conquer New Zealand's Great Ride Book

I read a lot of books about cycling and cyclists, and I must say I enjoy the ones about the more obscure people and events in the sport than those of the big names. Frenchman Jose Beyaert [pronounced /beI-a:-eIr/ was a big name for as long as it took him to win the Olympic road race, at the first post-Second World War Olympics held in London in 1948.

I think these days the Olympics aren't very much valued within cycling, in that you always hear much more about winners of the grand tours or the world championships, held every year, of course. I'm not sure why this should be so, as the Olympics are a brilliant spectacle, worthy of much respect, and to win a one-day race featuring the best athletes in the world is a triumph of training, ability and, often, sheer opportunism, having the guts to grab the moment. Beyaert's win was a big thing for France, a country still crippled by the effects of the war. It made him a celebrity for a few years, though he never won anything so big again, and was an also-ran in all the major tours.

Jose came from Pantin, a working-class suburb north-east of Paris, a place where hard work was countered by an enthusiastic approach to leisure, hence an accent on competitive sports such as cycling and boxing. [I lived there briefly in the early 80s, and can testify that it still had a few rough edges, then.] He had a tough upbringing, and much of his adolescence was spent during the Nazi occupation of France, with all its resulting privations. Jose was wily enough, and, at times, lucky enough, to get through the war. He was also tough enough; from an early age, Jose showed a willingness to use his fists to settle arguments, belying his rather geeky appearance, with his small frame and thick-framed glasses.

He won minor races, he lost them. His cycling career was going nowhere until he made a few contacts in Colombia, and was finally invited there to race, and to train the fledgling Colombian national team. It was in Colombia that Jose really came into his own, in a post-cycling career as a trader in various fields that attracted adventurers, the aimless, opportunists from all over the continent: emeralds, balsa trees, vehicles and vehicle parts, anything that people needed in whichever place Jose settled. He also ran restaurants and managed factories. If the stories are to be believed, Jose was also quite good at 'enforcement', making sure that men who said they'd do something did it, and - again, if we can believe the stories - sometimes killing off transgressors.

Matt Rendell has done a superb work of detection, in tracking down Jose in the last few years of his life, and in finding Jose's scattered relatives, friends, acquaintances and one-time colleagues, who all tell their own extraordinary, and often contradictory, tales.

As ever, I have to decide whether this would appeal to people who are not fans of cycling, and, if it's not obvious, of course it would: it's a fantastic yarn that incorporates histories of a country and trade I knew nothing about. I'm always fascinated by stories of people who achieve something as amazing as an Olympic win and who then go on to forget it as if it were nothing and lice a different life, and this is no exception. A brilliant read.