Meet Lindsay Crawford
Former pilot nearly raced the Tour de France.
At 10:22 a.m. on Wednesday, September 16, 2020, I received an email from a dear friend. Deep in the throes of navigating corporate life during the early COVID-19 era, I hadn’t been as proactive with him as in years past:
Cycling friends,
Many have wondered about why they haven’t seen me out riding over the past many months. I’m sending this to a select group to dispel rumors and avoid posting via social media.
First signs of a physical problem developing was when riding Eroica California 2016. Ability to ride slowly deteriorated, after that event, to the point of climbing off the bike for the last time in the spring of 2019.
Extensive testing and increase in symptoms recently determined I have Parkinson’s disease.
May the wind always be at your back.
Ciao,
Lindsay
We recently reconnected with Lindsay and his wife Estelle at their home on Skyline Boulevard just north of Alice’s Restaurant in Woodside, about 30 minutes from our place here in Silicon Valley. They just celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary, and it was lovely catching up. I’ve shared many glorious pedal strokes on memorable group rides with Lindsay, and my recent return to cycling reawakened fond memories of our long chats about Eddy Merckx, Greg LeMond and European cycling.
When Joe Parkin launched Paved Magazine in 2010, he asked if I had any article ideas to contribute. Without hesitation I pitched him two stories: one about the luminaries of American cycling (Ben Serotta, Gary Erickson, Steve Hed and Jim Ochowicz), and another about the legend of former United Airlines pilot Lindsay Crawford. The former appeared in Volume 1, the latter Volume 2, in the spring of 2011.
Like too many good publications, Paved stopped doing print several years ago, when road bikes had rim brakes (and looked better, in my opinion). In honor of rekindling my relationship with Lindsay, I’m republishing the article below, because friendship runs thicker than anything. Enjoy.
Lindsay Crawford has raced and finished the Tour of California, beaten a multiple Tour de France winner, appeared on the cover of VeloNews, and stood on a podium in France to receive an official yellow jersey and plush toy lion in front of thousands. His resting heart rate once hovered around 35 beats per minute, and his lung capacity is 7.5 liters, a few ticks under 5-time Tour winner Miguel Indurain.
This is a story about cycling transforming a man with no real athletic background or training into a thoroughbred, at an age when most professional cyclists consider retirement. No power wattage meter, no personal coach, no junior or espoir training in Europe, no rich endorsement contracts. Crawford’s story is one about balance, timing and commitment. In some ways, this story could’ve been about you.
The Redwood City, California native caught the bicycle bug in a rather uncharacteristic way. Living in Mexico City with his family in the late 1940s, a young Crawford witnessed a large bicycle race, probably the Tour of Mexico. The fluid motion of the athletes and their machines entranced young Lindsay, who carried the spirit of the wheel back to Redwood City on the peninsula south of San Francisco.
In time Crawford bought a Schwinn English racer with a Sturmey-Archer 3-speed rear hub from a local lawn mower shop. He immediately swapped out the swept-back touring bars for drops, and modified the rear hub with a Simplex rear derailleur and cog to create a makeshift nine speed.
“I remember Schwinn had a comic book, with cycling stories about racing, including stories about Mile-A-Minute Murphy,” Crawford said. “In 1953 I read a story in the newspaper about the Junior Olympics bicycle race at Golden Gate Park; I wasn’t quite 13 years old. I talked my parents into taking me to the Polo Fields to race. No license, no helmet. Most of the people racing that day became famous American bike racers, who had been track racing all along, a part of a secret ‘cult’ that no one heard about. I don’t remember the event having any affiliation with the actual Olympics.”
Like many pre-teens of that era, Crawford limited his riding to social time with friends. His first big adventure was riding up Old La Honda in 1951, a 3.5-mile serpentine lung-buster with a 7.3 percent average grade on a 35-pound machine. Crawford also got the notion to ride to Montana to visit his grandmother, who approved of the young lad’s pie-in-the-sky ambition.
Crawford, however, never mustered up the courage to enlarge his world by bike beyond the peninsula, though. He stuck to riding to school; he also began working at 13 before his family moved to Pennsylvania when he was 15. Sadly, the bike didn’t accompany him. After returning to Redwood City a year later, the lanky Crawford joined the cross country team like his older brother, and got his driver’s license. The bike took a back seat for 12 years.
Learning to Fly
Following a four-year stint in the Coast Guard, Crawford entered aviation school. At 24 he got his pilot’s license.
“I always liked to work with my hands and read; I took meteorology and aeronautics in school, but I dropped out to work for United Airlines,” he explained. “I worked for United on the luggage loading ramp, because they had just laid off 28 pilots. There was a hiring boom afterwards, and knowing the long-term career effects of seniority, I immediately put in an application to fly and was accepted.”
The impetus for Crawford’s reattachment to cycling at age 28 was a combination of his feeling the need to add some sort of physical activity to his life and, subconsciously, the need to do something where his personal efforts would be the basis for success or failure of his chosen activity. While Crawford understood bicycle racing to be a team sport, he learned quickly that it was the individual who puts in the dedication to hard mental and physical training.
Two years after marrying Estelle Mascarin in December 1963, Crawford started flying for United. By 1969 he felt his life was stable enough to branch out with a healthy diversion from work.
“I recalled how much I enjoyed riding a bike in the early `50s,” he added. “My son Chris was born in April 1969, and I bought a cheap Peugeot UO-8 bicycle in Menlo Park, and carried Chris on my back in a special carrier when I rode. I started documenting my mileage with a front-hub mounted odometer just to keep track. I started with 20 miles a day.
“I recall riding to Santa Cruz and back from Redwood City; I encountered an older gentleman riding up Highway 84; I was wearing a t-shirt, and he told me the importance of keeping my kidneys warm by wearing a proper jersey. I also enjoyed riding near my father’s house in Lake Tahoe, when I met Dan Brown from Reno, a junior racer at the time. I was wearing swim trunks and a t-shirt, and he told me about a criterium in Redwood City that he was taking part in, which was half a mile from my duplex. I watched the race, and was impressed by the speed.”
Crawford upgraded to a Peugeot PX-10, then a custom Cinelli (which took a year to receive). He attended a Western Wheelers bicycle club meeting, not realizing there was a racing club in nearby Belmont. His eyes were opened to the local riding scene, and he met Prosper Bijl, a young guy from the East Coast who wanted to start a racing club. After the meeting, Crawford asked Bijl if 30 was too old to start racing.
“I quickly got my first racing license, and my first event was a New Year’s Day race from San Francisco to the Santa Cruz County line,” Crawford said. “One of my teammates was Scott Campbell, the Danish Olympics women’s swim coach. We crossed the line first with our hands joined like Greg LeMond and Bernard Hinault at the Alpe d’Huez stage in the 1986 Tour. I qualified and raced for the 1970 national championships at Central Park in New York. The winner had also trained with his son on his back.”
Crawford moved up the ranks quickly, winning a race or two along the way. Once, he took home a 13-inch Sears black and white TV for winning a race, then stepped up to the big leagues.
Tour of California
In 1971, Peter Rich, who owned a bike shop in Berkeley, asked Crawford to be on Velo Club Berkeley, his team for the first Tour of California (1971 was also the year Lance Armstrong, Chris Horner and Jens Voigt were born; all three raced the 2010 Tour de France at age 38, and all have raced the Amgen Tour of California ~ editor). Fully engaged as a racer, Crawford was racing on the track, on the road, and in time trials all around northern and southern California.
“In late June I was riding on the track, sprinting for first with one of the other riders, and with 30 meters from the line he hooked me and took me down, giving me a fractured skull and other broken bones,” Crawford explained. He has a picture where he’s totally horizontal before touching the ground, bike and all. “I was in the hospital for a while, and out of work for six weeks. The Tour of California was coming up in two months, so I had to train on the rollers to recover. I also trained on all the major climbs of the Tour to prepare.”
Crawford raced as a domestique for Dave Brink, winner of the famous Nevada City Classic and one of the best riders in the US at the time. Seventy-nine international racers started the 8-day, 10-stage, 685-mile event on August 28 at the Bear Valley Resort near Lake Tahoe. Crawford finished the race in fortieth place, helping Brink take fifth overall; all this only 18 months after getting his first racing license.
Crawford continued racing throughout California, bypassing the 1972 Olympics due to career and family. He trained 15,000 – 16,000 miles a year, including time spent on the rollers in the garage at three in the morning before work most days. He blew out plenty of sew-up tires during that period, and trained in the dark a lot, putting in the miles between work and family.
The titans of American road racing, John Howard, John Allis, George Mount, Mike Neel and Jonathan Boyer, were grabbing victories both home and abroad, establishing a foothold for future American stars like LeMond, Andy Hampsten, and Armstrong. Crawford was leading a balanced life, flying planes for a paycheck, and spending several hundred grounded miles a week on his bike around the Santa Cruz mountains near his home.
Meeting LeMond
In 1975 the California-Nevada district road race was held near Carson City, Nevada, home to the LeMonds, an avid outdoorsy family. Legend has it father Bob and son Greg were out riding, saw the race, and caught the same bug Crawford had six years prior.
Over time, Crawford befriended the LeMonds, who both took out a racing license and found themselves in similar circles. The LeMonds connected with Roland Della Santa, a former racer who quit racing in 1971 or so to begin building frames. According to Crawford, Della Santa had hard-to-find European bike racing magazines that the 16-year-old Greg would devour in his shop, drinking in all the tactics and learning how bike racing was done at the highest level.
Like Crawford, Bob LeMond was a late bloomer (the two are just 11 months apart) and a tough competitor. The LeMonds traveled all around the northern Californian race circuit in their camper, and would stay at Crawford’s Woodside home when they came to the area for racing, but always outside in their camper. Crawford eventually competed against the Reno Rocket, as Greg became known, beating the reigning junior world champion at the 1980 Benicia road race.
The Letter
By this time, Crawford had 10 years of racing in his legs, against some of the best in America. He routinely did 60 – 80 races annually, on the road and track, sometimes four in a weekend. Training solo into the fierce headwinds of the northern California coast between Santa Cruz and Half Moon Bay strengthened his resolve and fortified his muscles, bringing him to what he calls his ‘invincible years’.
Then the letter arrived.
Dated March 23, 1981, on letterhead from United States Cycling Federation president Mike Fraysse, the letter explained that the organizers of the Tour de France were requesting an all American team compete in that year’s event, beginning June 25 in Nice. Crawford was among the nine being asked to race in the Super Bowl of bike races.
The other professional American cyclists, LeMond and Boyer, were committed to other trade teams (LeMond wouldn’t race his first Tour until 1984 as reigning world champion). At 40 years old, it seemed odd to Crawford, but he knew what Fraysse was looking for: finishers in Paris, not stage winners. Crawford isn’t a natural athlete, but he was born with the tools to be a great cyclist, and lends his tenacity to his Scottish heritage.
“My plan was to take two months off work, take out a professional race license, race the Tour, then retire,” Crawford explained 30 years later. “When I opened the letter, it felt like I got the yellow jersey! My riding overnight improved dramatically. In 1974, during the Tour of Marin, I got the leader’s jersey and it strengthened me to a whole new level, so those same feelings came back times 10 when I received the letter from Mike.”
Recently retired American racer Mike Neel was asked to manage the team, and advised Crawford to ride all the climbs in Nice for two weeks to prepare.
“Five weeks before the Tour began, I got a call letting me know we weren’t racing the Tour,” Crawford said, a hint of frustration on his face. “No real explanation. I quit riding the bike instantly; it ruined me mentally. I felt like the rug was pulled right out from under me. I went from euphoric to depressed in one phone call.”
Boyer finished 32nd overall in Paris that year, helping his Renault-Elf team leader Bernard Hinault win his third Tour.
“I always fantasized about racing the Tour de France, Milan San Remo, Paris-Roubaix, and Bordeaux-Paris, but my career as a pilot and my young family kept me grounded in California,” Crawford added. “A couple of months later, I got back on the bike when a friend had plans to race the Butterfly Criterium in April 1982. We spent time together socially, so I decided to ride 100 miles to Monterey where the race was held. That’s all it took to get me racing again.”
A freak collision with a mountain biker on the Golden Gate Bridge in the summer of 1982 thwarted Crawford’s plans to race the master’s world championships in Austria that September. Out of work for six weeks, Crawford decided to retire from racing, but continue to ride for pleasure. Other endurance sports followed, including cross country skiing, inline skating (including a 138 mile race in California’s central valley), and backpacking.
LeMond won his first Tour in 1986. That year, the 7-Eleven Cycling Team made its Tour debut, with Canadian Alex Stieda wearing yellow after the second day. Americans Davis Phinney, Bob Roll, Ron Kiefel, Doug Shapiro, Jeff Pierce, Chris Carmichael, Alexi Grewal, Eric Heiden rounded out the (nearly) all-American roster, with Mexico’s Raul Alcala brought on for the mountains. The bike was still part of Crawford’s life, but a chance meeting with an old racing friend opened another chapter of his life: riding in Europe.
Across the Pond
“I was running north on Skyline Boulevard near my house, when my old racing buddy and friend Bill Robertson was riding towards me,” Crawford said. “We stopped to chat about riding in Europe together the following summer. So we trained together, riding hard miles. Bill had long climber’s legs and knew how to make me suffer. We planned our route; a giant figure eight loop throughout the Alps for three weeks, 100 miles a day, 10,000 feet of climbing a day, with no time off. We were self-supported in every way, riding more miles than the guys doing the Tour at the time, finding accommodations every day and washing our clothes in the hotel sink every night.”
They did it again in 1989, and in 1991, when Crawford turned 50. His son Chris graduated from college in 1994, and wanted to join him on a European trip. Estelle convinced Crawford to take Chris.
“I told him we were leaving July 5 for a three-week bike tour in Europe, and he needed to prepare,” Crawford said. “He didn’t have a bike, so I loaned him a 50-year old Schwinn Paramount track bike with a 63-inch gear to train on. He went out and bought a custom Serotta for the trip. The track bike got him ready; we rode 75 miles a day, and I told him to hold my wheel and not go to the front. We had fun; I was riding 8,000 – 9,000 miles a year at that time.”
L’Etape du Tour
In 2001, riding with Robertson on the popular Cañada Road adjacent to Highway 280, Crawford connected with an old competitor named George Dyer, now living in France and designing bikes for Cyfac. The two exchanged email addresses, and a few months later Crawford received an email inviting him to do the L’Etape du Tour, which he had barely heard about. Crawford wasn’t a century rider, but said yes; it was his first trip to Europe since 1994.
“George designed a road and time trial bike for me, which I used to do some local races prior to my trip to France,” Crawford explained. “I didn’t know the roads in France, or anything about the event. I flew into Geneva to meet George and his wife. Due to a baggage handlers strike, my bike was held up. I got my bike the night before the event, five days later, staying up until midnight getting ready. George kept referring to L’Etape as a race, and had confidence in my ability to make the podium out of 6,000 people!
“Because my start number was 5665, it took me 14 minutes to cross the start line once the gun went off; I had no idea what to expect. The course included three category 1 climbs and one category 2 climb; no flats, just up and down; I passed 5,000 riders.” The 61-year-old’s time met the gold standard for the 18-29 year olds, finishing sixth in his age group. Dario Frigo won the Tour de France stage that year, and Crawford stayed in Europe for a few weeks to ride.
The old competitive spark was back, and Crawford trained seriously for the 2003 L’Etape du Tour. Because he placed so high, they invited him back. This time, 7,000 toed the start line in the race from Pau to Bayonne.
“I rode it like a race that year, enjoying the professionalism of the event, which was run just like a stage of the Tour, adding to the glamor of having motorcycles with cameramen, closed roads, and helicopters filming everything,” he said. “It felt great riding out front; it was exciting beyond belief.” American Tyler Hamilton won the stage during the Tour that year, with a broken collar bone.
Yellow Jersey
Crawford won his age category that year, and finished in the top 200. He wasn’t sure what to do after the finish line, so he asked someone near the media trailer and podium, and they directed him to a lounge with couches, like a green room for television. Someone explained what they were going to do, and Crawford was called out in front of thousands of people to receive his official yellow jersey and Crédit Lyonnais lion and flowers, plus kisses on the cheeks from the podium girls.
“That day felt like I raced a stage in the Tour de France, which made up for what happened in 1981,” Crawford said with a slight hint of emotion in his normal stoic demeanor. “I’ve never ridden a bike for fitness; I do it because I like it, and the people I’ve met. I’m a shy and retiring type, and bicycling brought me out of my shell a bit.
“I’m addicted to hard work, and cycling has provided the means of ‘suffering’ for me. My fitness has stayed quite steady over the years.”
Crawford continues to put in 20-plus hours in the saddle each week, mostly on one of two custom Della Santas. He saves the Cyfac for racing only, and uses his early `70s orange De Rosa fixed-gear for refining his spin. He works out in a Redwood City gym three times a week in the winter. His favorite ride is one he’s done ‘at least 5,000 times’, which includes stretches covered by the recent Tour of California peloton: riding out to La Honda, on the old Tour Del Mar route on Pescadero Road. He usually takes Hwy 84 to San Gregorio, then south on Stage Road. He climbs Tunitas Creek Road two or three times a week, something he wouldn’t do as much in the past.
Now 70, Crawford has completed 17 European sportives since 2002, and plans to compete in the two-stage 2011 L’Etape. His yellow jersey and lion rest comfortably in his office among other memorabilia, with an autographed framed poster of Eddy Merckx looking over his shoulder, providing inspiration.
Coming up next: Part 4 - It’s True About Italy, the continuing travelogue of our European motorcycle tour.
It’s rare to find such an agreeable guy like Lindsay, and it’s an honor calling him a friend.
Terrific piece, Gary. I didn't see the story in Paved, so I'm glad you reposted it here.