Included in The Best American Sports Writing of 2012 as Notable Sports Writing of 2011, selected by editor Glenn Stout
Text > John Madruga Images > Jered Gruber
SELF
There is, of course, something alluring about the bike to those who are drawn to it. Is it the speed, the ability to cover large distances and climb mountain passes in a single day? Is it the scenery or the unique perspective from the saddle that makes us want to ride? These are perfectly valid reasons for providing the motivation to ride, but I’m not thinking pragmatically here, trying to uncover meaning out of the tangible, measureable numbers that so many cyclists are so fond of: wattage production, heart rate, VO2 max, Rate of Perceived Exertion (RPE) or Functional Threshold Power (FTP).
I’m also not thinking of other often-cited practical reasons for riding, such as reducing one’s carbon footprint or getting fit—both of which are obvious beneficial byproducts of riding. So what motivates the cyclist? Why cycling? These questions seem rather basic, and yet the answers are not, I believe, solved by the data generated from a power meter, calculator or wind tunnel. The answers also lie outside the purview of city planners or environmentalists. In this case, I’m thinking of certain key internal, emotional factors that lead one to the bike, and wondering what is it, deep within the mind and heart of the cyclist, that inspires him to ride.
Allan Peiper, sports and technical director of Columbia-HTC, says: "Although we have speed and heart-rate monitors and power weighting machines, ultimately you have to monitor yourself. You have to be able to prepare yourself mentally for something like this, prepare yourself for torture." No cyclist rides without some internal motivation, some desire, need or compulsion to put in the miles day after day and feel the results of the sacrifice. Some days on the road are beautiful and bright, others may be dismal and depressing, and yet as Lance Armstrong writes, “It’s a sport of self-abuse. You’re on your bike for the whole day, six and seven hours, in all kinds of weather and conditions, over cobblestones and gravel, in mud and wind and rain, and even hail, and you do not give in to pain.” Prepare yourself for torture? A sport of self-abuse? Where’s the beauty, the benefit in that?
Perhaps the beauty of the sport is that whatever the conditions of the ride may be—wind, rain, sun, mountains, flat, slow, fast, calm or congested—there is one constant force always at work on the ride: the individual rider coming face-to-face with himself, experiencing a kind of balance that is simply not often part of the daily, off-the-bike reality we all live with and take part in.
In the context of our culture, we are increasingly drawn to a 24/7 reality that effectively takes us away from ourselves. It’s far easier to busy ourselves with the lives of those around us, visit their Facebook or Twitter pages and feel “connected” than it is to really make the effort to look inward and become aware of the self. Dr. Jon Kabat Zinn, specialist in mindfulness and mind/body medicine at the University of Massachutes Medical School, points out that “technology is in some sense getting more sophisticated than our understanding of ourselves as human beings without the technology.” Cycling provides an opportunity for us to pay attention to the self, drop into Being and become aware of our own inner life, away from the many distractions of the day. Eddy Merckx put it this way: “There are too many factors you have to take into account that you have no control over .... The most important factor you can keep in your own hands is yourself. I always placed the greatest emphasis on that.” I think the motivation for cyclists is that need to return to the self, test the limits of their ability and feel pain as a reminder that they are indeed alive—and this can only be accomplished by being able to withstand the hours, days, weeks, months and years on the road alone, not only finding comfort there, but meaning in the solitude every ride offers.
SOLITUDE
Our general sense of solitude is that it suggests isolation or seclusion, a kind of willing separation from others and society. This is what solitude may look like on the surface, as the image of the recluse, loner or introvert comes to mind. J. Krishnamurti writes: “There is a difference between isolation, cutting oneself off, and aloneness, solitude. We all know what it is to be isolated—building a wall around oneself in order never to be hurt, never to be vulnerable, or cultivating detachment which is another form or agony, of living in some dreamy ivory tower of ideology. Aloneness is something quite different.” When our sense of solitude is understood in terms of the individual experience that is inherent in it (and the discovery of meaning that often arise in these moments), then our initial sense of the word changes. “In solitude alone we confront ourselves and cleanse ourselves. In solitude alone can we experience the deeper joys and purposes within.”
Every ride is ultimately a solitary act, an opportunity to experience solitude for ourselves. Some may choose to ride solo or train with a group, enjoying the camaraderie of the peloton, but the fact remains: the cyclist essentially always rides alone, suspended above the ground, moving through space, the individual body in motion. George Hincapie, following a time trial, simply stated: "The ones who succeed, they embrace the pain. It's all you.” What we tend to see is the physical aspects of the ride, the legs hammering the pedals, the head maybe moving a bit side to side and the mouth opening slightly to gain more air. But the rider must also focus, clear the mind and see things as they are—and as they come in and out of view: traffic, terrain, cars passing and those parked, road conditions, weather, traffic signs and signals, and people encountered along the route. It’s a totally unique and individual view. Add to this the unseen, innate perceptions, reactions and instincts riders use to determine the quality of their experience on the bike, and the totality of the experience is an elaborate balancing act between various external (the body) and internal (the mind) forces within the individual rider—all of which shifting and changing in an instant as she pushes forward and goes inward at the same time. The effect is that in this individual focus on the bike we become aware of every unfolding moment of the ride—and of ourselves. Suddenly, on the bike, we are reminded of the most basic and necessary physiological aspects of our living nature: blood flowing, eyes seeing, muscles working, lungs breathing, heart beating.
BIKE
In almost every sport apart from cycling—from football, basketball and baseball to cricket, soccer and tennis—athletes are rooted to the earth, feet planted firmly on the ground and feeling the full weight of gravity on their backs. Obviously, cyclists also contend with the effects of gravity, but they glide over a surface while runners literally pound it repeatedly, stride after stride. Because of this, the bike’s function is not simply a means of transportation, but something that transports riders into a different dimension of movement—a different height and pace, and on a different plane than what we normally experience off the bike, either walking or sitting in a bus, train or car. The bike offers a kind of fluidity, a lightness of being that is unique even from surfing or skiing, which rely on the forces or contours of nature to create motion. Seen in this way, the bike becomes the perfect vehicle for the rider himself to also be transported into a new sense of awareness, as he is attached to the ground but also gliding above it, moving forward but also sitting still. Add to this the fact that the rider is the sole source of the power/energy of his own motion, and what seems to be a pretty ordinary act—riding on two wheels—actually becomes essential to our lives. As Do Hyun Choe states, “Movement is what creates life. To be still and still moving—this is everything.” Perfect.
peloton, Issue 03