The Biggest Breakaway

But the elder Boyer made a thin living at it. His marriage ended amicably in 1961, and his wife, Josie, left for California to join her parents in Carmel, with two very independent boys and their sister, Eliza, nine.

Josie Swift Boyer, originally from Pasadena, now lives in a quiet, casual corner house full of books. In the house one finds a kind of summer-cottage ease, along with a definite if unspoken sense of tradition and values. "There's nothing more individualistic or determined than a prospector," says Josie Boyer of her former husband. "I could see I was going to have to earn some money to bring the children up."

The Swift in her name came to her via the meat-packing family, but the Swift money did not, she says—nor did it finance her son's career, as some believe. So Josie Boyer took a degree in elementary education and began teaching school in nearby Monterey. Boyer may be the Phil Mahre of bike racing, but his mother doesn't rush a visitor to the trophy room. She's more concerned about the basics—Jacques' recent marriage to Elizabeth Underwood, his general well-being, his future; these are things that pro sports can tamper with, and she knows it. On the other hand, she also knows her son is tough. He could always defend his privacy, even as a child.

"I didn't know what he was like, even though we had a close relationship," she says. "He was always out there, active, but I don't have a clue as to what was going on in his mind. I don't know why he became a bicycle racer, or as good a bicycle racer as he is. Except that stamina runs in the family, both sides. But why Jock wanted to be—had any concept of wanting to be—'first,' I don't know. [Boyer was born Jonathan, "Jock" to friends and family; the years in France have made him "Jacques" to millions of European fans, and that is the name he uses today.] He didn't care to play competitive games, even at school.

"When he got interested in something, he would stay with it. He told me that he had to stop reading in the fourth grade because when he found the Tolkien books, he couldn't stop. The teacher would catch him with The Hobbit inside his math book. I think the thing that interested him most, before bicycles, was animals. Jock always loved snakes especially, and knows a great deal about them, has no fear of them. He thought of becoming a veterinarian before going to France."

It was brother Winston who got Jock into cycling. "In grade school Jock wasn't any bigger than anyone else, but he was sort of a tough guy," Winston says. "He'd get into fights once in a while and beat somebody up. People would hire him for their bodyguard. He was competitive. I think that was part of the two of us together—he was always trying to do what I did." His mother adds, "Whatever Jock did, he got away with: He'd come home after school with a black eye and a bruised jaw, but there wasn't a word about it. Somehow he never got caught."

Overflowing with energy, "He would drive everybody crazy in the off-season, when he wasn't supposed to ride for two months," Winston says. "He would be holding down two jobs and you'd find him in front of the house at 3 a.m. polishing this car he was going to sell. When he's riding, he's fine. It calms him down."

Boyer's grandmother, Lila Swift, remembers that he was by turns impulsive and practical as a young child. He would throw impressive tantrums, which he stopped immediately when it became clear there was no point in continuing. She isn't surprised that he is good at languages: "He was such a good mimic—he would entertain us at the dinner table by imitating all his teachers. They were very good imitations."

"I lost him," is the way Josie describes what happened when that energy and temperament encountered the bicycle. She's still a little troubled by Boyer's early, abrupt and complete removal from "normal" life. Whatever experiences he would otherwise have had between 15 and 25 are gone—her word—almost as if he had entered the military or the priesthood.

When Josie Boyer lost her son to cycling, he fell first into the good hands of neighbor Sam Hopkins. In racing circles, Hopkins is known as Heidi Hopkins' father, his daughter being the No. 2 U.S. woman rider. Around Carmel the slight, soft-spoken, white-haired Hopkins is considered a genuine cycliste sportif, though he never raced seriously. Hopkins recalls that any ride with the Boyers ended up fast. A lot of miles were put in with Hopkins—unstructured, low-stress miles of the type Frank Shorter thinks may often be the most productive kind of basic training for runners. By the time Jock was 15, he could do a pair of pretty quick 100-mile rides back-to-back and feel no distress the next day.