Words: Lionel Birnie

1: THE WANNABE PRO
Every club has one. He's got the £3,000 bike, all the kit, brand new top-of-the-range shoes, the glasses, the gel in his hair but, sadly, not the ability.

He spent a year in Belgium, did the whole thing and lived in a flat above a bakery with 10 Ukrainians. The food was weighed and rationed by the team manager. All he did was eat, sleep and race. Nearly won a kermesse out near Antwerp but got flicked by this huge Belgian bloke. He's really good at riding on the cobbles and swears being an amateur in Belgium is harder than being a pro.

Unfortunately, he got injured and was left out of the team towards the end. Anyway, the tomato ketchup doesn't taste the same and you can't get Kellogg's cornflakes out there so he came home and heard there was a job going at the local bike shop. Could have made it, though. Nearly signed for Ag2r.

2: THE ANORAK
Anyone who went to the prologue in LiËge will have seen them by the dozen. Middle-aged obsessives with a rucksack full of sticker albums, official team postcards and cycling magazines entirely obscured by scrawled autographs of Belgian kermesse riders. Don't get too close, these fellas smell a bit.

They stalk around the start areas, pen at the ready, hassling the riders, despite already having the autograph of every professional since 1981.

They're quite natty dressers too, in their Etienne De Wilde fan club baseball hats and thermal Hitachi team jackets, which date back to the days when Claude Criquielion was racing.

They can't help correcting Daniel Mangeas' commentary. "Actually, he won stage three of the 1998 Tour of Picardy," they'll say to no one in particular. They're not actually interested in the racing, so once the riders leave town they'll head straight home to organise their Lotto-Domo postcards into alphabetical order.

3: THE PURIST ROADIE
He's dull, getting on a bit and shows signs of being a borderline obsessive- compulsive. He takes cycling way, way too seriously, but is over the stage where he weighs his muesli. All of his sentences begin with the words: "Well, what the pros do is..."

But he berates anyone who dares to wear pro replica kit. "Who do you think you are, bloody Mario Cipollini?" he'll say to the teenager in replica Saeco kit. He once gave a lad such a dressing down for daring to wear a polka-dot jersey on a club run that the boy never touched a bike again.

His bike will be a homage to early Eighties technology, when his interest in bike design stands frozen in time. With Reynolds 753 tubing the width of a hose pipe and those awful Campagnolo Record centre-pull brakes, he thinks it's superior to the faddish fat-tubed efforts of today.

"There's no hill you can't get up in 42x19," he'll say. Then you'll see him weaving from side to side, grinding away, ridiculously over-geared, as you spin past, Lance-style, in 39x21.

On a club run he's continually barking orders. "Tony, are you going to do a turn at the front today, or are you having a day off?" and "Come on lads, keep it tight at the front, through and off," are two of his most popular.

4: THE MESSAGE BOARD POSTER
There are two types of internet message board poster and they divide neatly into two main categories: Brits and Americans. The Brit is miserable, negative, hyper-critical and anonymous. The American is bright, breezy, naive, and prone to hero-worship.

Neither posts any comments that are any fun to read. Whatever they do for a living isn't keeping them busy enough and they seem to spend the bulk of every day sending messages to cycling websites. They have a half-baked opinion on everything and an aggressive (or in the case of many of the Americans, a passive-aggressive) style of delivery.

This is the problem with the internet. Anyone can say anything they like and then yell 'free speech' as their principal defence.

The British posters are the worst. Everything is rubbish and too expensive. They moan and moan about cycling being treated as a minority sport (it is, live with it) and then, when there's a sudden rush of interest from the mass media (such as during the Olympics), they snort and scoff and criticise.

The rest of the time they'd rather talk about whether under-23 third-cat Robbie Snurge has got any chance of getting a pro contract with that Polish squad for next year.

The Americans can't bear any comments which could be perceived as a slight against Lance, so the best way to wind them up is to start a thread headed: 'Eddy Merckx is still the greatest ever'.

In summary, then, people who dwell on the internet sharing comments that could have no possible interest to anyone, while kidding themselves that they are part of a 'vibrant online community' need to get out and feel the sunshine on their faces for five minutes.

5: THE BELEAGUERED HACK
Hours after the race has finished you'll find him hunched over his laptop, trying to bash out another 1,000 words before his power pack fails again. He's spent all afternoon watching the race on a big screen in the press room - which is the gymnasium of a grotty French high school - and hasn't seen daylight since 8am. The nearest he's been to a cyclist all day was when he bumped into a Cofidis neo-pro in the lift at the hotel this morning.

His reference books are spread open in front of him as he tries to conjure up a phrase that perfectly encapsulates the magic and excitement of the eighth bunch sprint he's seen in 10 days.

When he's finished his report he'll battle to get an online connection using his brand new but battered Bluetooth mobile phone before giving up and heading to his lodgings - a soulless chain hotel on the outskirts of town, no doubt - to watch 'alternative' programmes on TV in his room.

Next morning he'll get up and do it all again. After all, once this is over, there's only the Vuelta and the Worlds to go until he gets to spend two months at home before hitting the road again with the Tour of Majorca in February.

6: MR ENTHUSIASTIC
"Hey, we're at the Tour baby! It's incredible! Yesterday we were just chilling at this little pavement cafe when we saw some guy in a Liberty Seguros tracksuit. Got his autograph man, he was so cool. Gave us these hats. He's like a masseur or something but he rubs Roberto Heras' legs every night. Wish I could do that.

"Man, we managed to get behind the barriers to see the presentation yesterday. Saw Lance, baby! Wow, those podium girls, huh? Those CrÈdit Mayonnaise girls are hot.

"You'll never guess what happened today. Our hire car broke down and we were stuck without any lunch. We were near the feed zone but none of the team helpers would let us chow down on the riders' snacks. Anyway, the peloton comes through and there was like an attack or something so all the guys just threw their feed bags down. We ate like kings.

"We stayed in a hotel across from US Postal today. We saw Lance get out of the car and walk across the parking lot to the hotel entrance. It was awesome."

7: SUPER-SLICK PR MAN
The sponsor's logos are embroidered on his team-issue sleeveless fleece and polo shirt. The crease in his tan chinos looks as if it's been put there with a straight-edge. The gelled hair, the black-rimmed specs and the mobile phone permanently glued to his ear add up to give a slick, super-professional first impression.

But under the surface, the PR man is Mr Evasive. He has a thinly-veiled disgust of the press - mainly because he's a frustrated journalist. Objectivity is an alien concept to him and when writing his verbose race reports for the official team website, he'll ignore the winner to give a full breakdown of how his riders finish 11th, 17th and 35th.

When dealing with journalists he is friendly and passively obstructive. When requesting an interview with the team's star rider - as their self-imposed protocol insists - he makes the same sort of unhopeful face a car mechanic makes when repairs are going to be very expensive indeed.

Popular phrases include: "That could be difficult but I'll see what I can do." Which means: "You're last on my list of people to call," and "I'll get back to you," which also means: "You're last on my list of people to call."

But, a word of warning to any hacks who dare to speak to the PR man's star rider without going through him first - be careful. These control freaks don't like to be ignored and at the next team launch your goody bag could be very lightweight.

8: THE GRUMPY MECHANIC
Is it any surprise they're grumpy? They get up at 5.30 when it's still dark and don't get to bed until after midnight. If anything goes wrong with the bike it's their fault and they will get a right rollocking from the rider and the manager after the race.

They sit in the back of the team car all day, trying to grab some sleep without the directeur sportif noticing. When there's a puncture they have to look alert, leap out of the car and change the wheel while the prima donna of a rider stands there and watches or yells, "Hurry up." They risk losing their fingers in an angry whirr of spokes or sprocket teeth, leaning out of the car window at 60kph to tighten a screw or adjust the saddle height.

When the race finishes, their day is only just beginning. They have to clean all the bikes and check them over, knowing that if they cut any corners they will be for the high jump.

As the riders come down for dinner and then retire to their rooms the mechanics are in the hotel car park, jumping in and out of the back of the team truck, ploughing their way through the mountain of work.

If they are lucky they'll grab a bite to eat at around 11 when all that's left of the mozzarella and tomato salad is a bit of green tomato and some olive stones. Is it any wonder they are the party animals of pro cycling?