It’s a good question, this: who in their right mind would willfully hurt themselves doing something they “enjoy”? I’m guessing psychologists have a word for this type of behavior, and I’m not afraid to assume it’s not a flattering one. Indeed, we are all of us completely nuts.
When I’m not filing TPS Reports, it’s my job to help businesses not make technical problems any worse than they already are; occasionally I even help solve one or two. On the good days, I might sit behind my computer and do some actual “work”. On the bad days, I try to remember what I actually did despite being busy from the moment I set foot in the office, if not before that. No matter which of these shapes my days take, I come home feeling ready for a ride.
I generally look forward to that part of the day; to changing into my cycling kit, mulling over which cycling-specific eye wear to use and which lenses, before heading down to the basement where the bikes sleep. I like to spend a few minutes cooing over the stable while I pretend not to have already decided to take out Bike Number One; then I make my final selection and ready it for the road.
Being too fat to climb means that I am prone to snakebite punctures caused by my fat ass bouncing the back tire on the rim, so by necessity, I check my tire pressure before every ride (I’ve never had a flat on a Continental GP4000, by the way). I check my quick releases. If I didn’t clean and oil my chain after the last ride, I’ll clean and oil it. I’ll make sure everything is shifting properly. I’ll check the brakes, hang my helmet from the stem as stipulated in Rule #76, and roll my steed out into the garage where she’ll wait for me while I fill my water bottles and slip into the white ladies.
All the while, work will be knocking around in the back of my mind; be it the annoying things that happened during the day, the items I didn’t get around to, or whatever it is that will transpire tomorrow. As I roll out onto the street, I’ll be preoccupied by little things as I settle into the rhythm of the ride. Things like trying not to get hit by the idiot in a car who seems to be texting his buddies that he Hearts Huckabees. Or I’ll question the decision-making process that encouraged the girl waiting at the bus stop to buy pantaloons that are three sizes too small. Despite these worthwhile distractions, work will be knocking around in the back of my mind.
Climbing – or more precisely, the pain induced by climbing – is my favorite escape. When I’m on form, I’m encouraged by how good it feels to climb at tempo. Let me digress for a moment to point out that what a Velominatus defines as “feels good” diverges a bit from the traditional definition; by “good”, I mean to indicate that there is a tension in the legs – they hurt but feel strong – and the lungs ache as more air is taken from them than can possibly be pumped back into them, but they don’t feel like they are turning inside-out. “Feeling Good” is the only the beginning.
Then comes picking up a spade, cramming it into a mountainous heap of Rule #5, and turning it over on yourself. There is a strange freedom in the sensation you get as the pain rises through your body; it starts in the legs, and then in the lungs. Together they swell and grow into each other as the pain consumes every bit of consciousness and affects the vision – colors become simultaneously more vibrant and desaturated. The mind takes on a singular focus to keep the legs turning, blood pumping, and oxygen flowing; any thought not directly associated with keeping up the effort is pushed out. A cyclist’s pain is a singular, focused peacefulness. From a Buddhist perspective, there might be something of the shadow of Enlightenment to it, that singular Oneness of Focus. Except that pain bit. I’m not a Buddhist, but I think they might not really be into that side of things.
It’s only during those moments – when I’m suffering like sweet baby Jesus on the cross – that my work doesn’t occupy at least some portion of my mind; the singular indulgence of pain clears everything away, and when I climb off the bike – destroyed – and after I’ve finished my post-ride beer (you need carbs after a ride, you know), everything seems just a little bit clearer. By clearing away the noise, it makes all the problems in life seem a little less insurmountable.
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@all,
Speaking of pain, I narrowly avoided a whole lot of pain on my group ride this morning by pulling one of these (watch the black guy):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ftEFFv0h24
We were in a paceline going 27 or 28mph, and some fuckwit (#2 Rider) slammed his brakes and I swerved left to avoid the wheel of #3 who also swerved left. Somehow I managed to think "Oh this is going to suck" as soon as I saw things unfolding in that split second. Nearly got tagged by oncoming traffic and narrowly avoided a concrete wall and a bigass pile of sand. I don't know how, but I made it back to the #3 rider's wheel within 2 or 3 seconds of the event. Needless to say, #3 (a very experienced rider and someone I consider a friend) gave the guy an earful and a half.
And the asshole that caused it all when he was rotating back from the front had the nerve to tell me "Good job avoiding that accident" instead of simply apologizing. I didn't say anything to him because the only thing I was thinking was "I oughta punch your fuckin' teeth out."
@Steampunk
Coming a bit late to the "Three Pints of Awesome" party, as YouTube is blocked at work. But it was worth the wait. Thanks for posting it. (Was just asked to explain what I was cackling at in the study. "Oh, Honey, this fantastic clip of this big German hardman clown, this dry laconic hardman Aussie and this funny little wafer from Luxembourg." I don't think I put it very well...)
@frank, @geof
I hear you both. I'm as surprised as you to have written the article in the first place. Yes, Grimpette (A) is a classy guy, and told us not to boo Bertie on the podium.... and then he finished second in paris (i.e. didn't win), and EVERYONE missed the point about Contador's apology.... it wasn't about him disrespecting ASchleck, it was about him disrespecting the Maillot Jaune (who gives a shit who's in it?)--- he is a v classy guy, but not a winner. Yes, Contador has won the Tour three times in a row, has kind eyes (my wife's point of view), took the shit Armstrong threw his way last year and still won, but THEN HE PULLED THAT STUNT THIS YEAR. the tit. And I agree with both of you on Cav - he does need to grow up. that stunt last year with Thor was at best marginal (the course narrowed, he held his line... look at the heli footage) at worst too agressive (he knew the road was narrowing, and used it to his advantage to close Thor out). Stage two this year was stupid when he took the turn like David Coulthard used to take a turn in an F1 car (i.e. "David, what happened?"..."Well, the car was set up great, the team did a great job, we had good straight line speed, I was in the lead, and then the corner came up.... and I forgot to steer"). I acknowledge all of that.
But, did he not grow up when he looked down that desolate, lonely path that being a loser is and say "that path is not for me", turned it around, and cried his eyes out on the podium. Since that day, I've heard him do nothing except praise those around him... his team, Petacci, etc.... even when he's basically done it himself (also, including, a brilliant stage where he used Thor as his lead out man).... I think these are early days, but I think he HAS grown up. I think - when history writes up 2010 - that this year will make him... not as a sprinter, but as a human being. I hope I'm right, and that your opinions prove, with the test of time, to be misplaced. Look forward to continuing this. BTW, love "tall poppy syndrome"!
@roadslave
Time will tell. But I hope you're right. It would be a shame for the fastest man on two wheels to be anything but an icon. (BTW, my point about Bertie being classy was obviously not a refererence to Chaingate itself, but it does include the way he did what he could to address it quicksmart.)
@roadslave
Cav's by far the best sprinter going around, and is well on the way to being the best ever. He will never hold a place in people's hearts the way Cippo does because he is repeatedly and demonstrably a fuckwit.
Getting off his bike to punch a fan who booed him, spitting on Haussler after bringing him down, the two fingered salute... They all point to him being a dude you can admire for being a very fast bike rider, and that is all.
His and Renshaw's relegations and disqualifications have come from the Commissaires without any protests from competitors. They've been ousted for doing shit that you just can't do while travelling at 65km/hr wearing nothing but bike kit with forty-odd other blokes lined up behind you doing the same thing.
To claim that it was Garmin's fault that Renshaw got done is a bit rich. I'd love to get the measurements of Renshaw's deviation at Farrar after he headbutted Dean compared to Dean's. From memory, Dean deviated at most a foot, then copped three headbutts and didn't deviate any further. He could have done, but didn't - you'd naturally lean in when someone was headbutting you wouldn't you? Once Renshaw stops the headbutting, he looks over his left shoulder, sees Farrar coming (to another inevitable second place) and turns to the left. He only stops when Farrar, who by now has been ridden right onto the barriers, pushes him away (one broken hand holding the bike, one pushing a mad Australian off of him). It had to have been five or six feet that he deviated. It was super dangerous.
"It was Garmin's fault" was just more bullshit Columbia "in the bunker" propaganda (anyone else reminded of their histrionics after Hincrappie missed the yellow by five seconds, and Cav won the sprint to the line for 9th or whatever, having been lead out for the previous few km? "Garmin chased it and cost us the jersey. Lance kept the gap down and cost his mate George the jersey..." Harden up and tell your boys not to pull for Cav in the final few km, and tell George he should have ridden for the line, not waved his arms at his fellow break boys... you whining cunts)
Sorry. Digression. Cav's a great sprinter and a class A fuck knuckle. He'll be a sprinter for a decade or so, and a cocksucker for his whole life. You'd love to meet Cippo in a bar (inevitably sipping cocktails on an Italian beach, beating off millions of adoring fans) but would you want to meet Cav?
@roadslave
Here's hoping you're right, but alas I fear that Geof and Hawkeye have a point for now. It's all too easy to be gracious when you're winning; when you're losing, it's another story altogether.
@Hawkeye
John would pass out. And he's big and heavy, so while I'd want to meet Cipo, I'd want to do it either before Johnny Boy met him, or sufficiently later to ensure he was already moved somewhere where he could recover in safety.
A friend of a friend went to a dinner thing Cav attended. I guess he's just like a 15 year old kid with ADD, just bouncing off the wall and acts like a total spaz. Totally used to being the limelight, a fucking tool. He's got a long road ahead of him in terms of becoming a champion. It will be interesting to watch him over the coming years; something to offset the boredom of watching him win every bunch sprint will be to see if he departs the toolshed.
Fast little fucker, though. No denying.