You light up my legs, you give me hope. Photo JEFF PACHOUD/ GETTY
Cycling is made up of hundreds of minute details, forming a larger entity which is generally simplified and viewed as the intrinsically simple act of riding––or racing––a bicycle. Getting on and pedalling, fast, may be the crux of winning the Tour, Roubaix, or the local B grade crit, but if it is held as the most important aspect, then the real substance, beauty, and purpose is sadly lost.
Races such as the Tour form a part of that, sure, but it’s the micro-elements––ones that go far beyond a bunch of men kindly letting another man beat them soundly while looking like he couldn’t beat time with a stick––that most pundits or once-a-year fans will undoubtedly overlook, or possibly choose to ignore, or maybe just think are too ridiculous to bother talking about. Like lights on legs.
As another insomnia-curing stage unfolded before , we looked for something, anything, to focus on to prevent throwing a brick through the screen at a yellow abomination, or pour hot tar into our ears to drown out the senile uncle who can’t remember your (or anyone else’s) name and just won’t fuck off. Anything. Rain clouds on the horizon. Some running-selfie-dickhead falling over. An attractive spectator. A dog. Anything.
The rain came. It provided hope. It delivered little in the way of affecting the race, yet provided the best imagery of the three week slumber. Imagery that has been played out for decades, whenever rain comes to a bike race. Among the trees the black tarmac glistened, drops as big as Pharmy’s ball cascading down, bouncing off in futile attempts to return to the sky, repeatedly failing against the unbeatable gravity. Newly-formed rivers intersected paths with various-sized rubber donuts. Skin burnt dark and coated with an invisible paint that doesn’t colour but enhances. The yellow/white glow of light from a convoy of superfluity, adding little of value or need. Except to enhance the chiseled, sinewed pistons before it, illuminating every revolution of an unrelenting rhythm, a glow that elicits warmth even when coldness, loneliness, pain and monotony are the cardinal factors as witnessed by the demeanor of the protagonists.
We are all voyeurs. If we can’t get no satisfaction from an actual battle, then we instinctively look for other comforts, the familiar. Lights on legs on a rainy day in the French Alps is surely the Cycling equivalent of a tot of whiskey in front of the fire.
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what i love most about current era racing is that when they finish a really hard stage, especially a mountain top finish, the rider usually about tumble off their bikes and can hardly stand or walk or talk.
back in the days of big Pharmy, those guys would crush a mountain stage, or Paris-Roubaix, hop off their bikes and starting milling about with the journalists talking and looking fresh as a daisy.
Call me a voyeur, but part of watching bike racing is the enjoyment of watching the pros suffer on long days of racing the same way i suffer on most every ride.
no matter the details, i like that we all can gain the same pleasure from suffering.
Got a taste of this on my Sunday AM ride in the hills outside Portland...rolled out to a slight mist falling that turned to a bit of rain on the first climb...not enough to fully soak the chamois...just a light rinsing to catch sunbreaks and give the sweat some company...
@Rusty Gramm
Lochlan Morton yesterday - fck nice V display if I've ever seen one.. Talansky and Costa too. In fact, chapeau to them all.
@Dan
Yes! I watched the race too and really got a kick outa watching that race develop. Joe D was class act at finish too. 75 mile race can be a lot of fun to watch. Lochlan was definitely all in. Was reading somewhere he said he'd been racing with his eyes closed. The descent off of Empire was clearly a lot more fun that what was raced in Rio that's for sure!
@Brett
" or pour hot tar into our ears to drown out the senile uncle who can’t remember your (or anyone else’s) name and just won’t fuck off "
The second mention of " Richie Froome " was enough to do my head in. Listened to Matt and Robbie then turned the sound down when they left the booth.
Beautifully written, Bretto. Chapeau.
Is there such a thing as auto-voyeurism, too? By that I mean: are there others out there who (usually during the late summer, when the legs are nicely tanned and, with a little luck, somewhat muscular), rejoice in the arrival of a mild shower to paint the moving guns and make them glisten... And then almost run off the road while staring mesmerized at their own smoothly moving legs? (Hard climbs, in particular, seem to bring out this particular brand of narcissism.)
the only thing that could make Tommy D look any better was a fuck ton of rain, what great stage.
@ErikdR
Yes, there definitely is. And in this part of the world, it's not now.
@Brett
Still winter-ish in Noo Zulland, eh? Here in Scandinavia, we're approaching that 'late summer' time of year just about now. The weather has been shitty for what seems like months and work has been crazy, so the poor legs are neither tanned nor particularly sinewy at the moment. However, conditions can sometimes get surprisingly gorgeous in September and October around here, so I haven't quite given up hope: I may yet get an opportunity to fall off my bike and into a thorny shrub while ogling my own glistening guns.
I'm now looking forwards to it raining so I can admire the light glistening off my guns, before it's too dark to see them and I've stopped shaving after race season (we'll see if I follow through on this aim).