Tony Doyle led a storied life as his cycling career took him to the top

I first met Tony Doyle in the lounge of a hotel near his home in Woking. He arrived early, smartly dressed and prepared to give up several hours for an interview about his cycling career. He was similarly generous with his time and wisdom during a friendship that lasted another eight or so years. He was also punctual without fail and I never saw him without a formal jacket. Tony was a proud man and the news of his death last Friday came as a shock.

I considered him a mate and I hoped the feeling was mutual. If I needed a quote, a contact or just fancied a chat, no request was too much for him. Sure, as a journalist, I was of use to Tony and he was happy to take advantage of that. But he helped me out far more often than I did him.

When a personal situation of mine had not quite worked out, he was sympathetic, nonjudgmental and robust in his advice. He offered compliments, too, and I knew them to be heartfelt because Tony was just as quick to point out my shortcomings. With Tony, you valued his frankness even when it stung. I could see why he was a valued mentor to young cyclists.

For some reason I could never help him in quite the same way, though I had known about his mental-health struggles since that first meeting in the Premier Inn. At the time he admitted that he had not long emerged from a difficult spell. Quite sensibly he divulged this off the record, but said that he planned to discuss it in an autobiography. He wanted to demonstrate to fellow sufferers how they might come out the other side.

The last I heard, the book was unfinished. With the help of his wife Adriana, a teacher, Tony had written several chapters. But without the motivation of a publisher’s advance, they had not managed to finish it.

This was