Evelyn Stevens was working on Wall Street four years ago and is now the best American women cyclist. How is that possible? Her parents must be enjoying dinner with pulses of 40 bpm and sky high VO2 maxes. Are they both professional marathon runners? Is that how they met? Maybe they have never attempted aerobic sports. If Evelyn has siblings and they are not professional athletes, I hope they are taking advantage of their superior aerobic thresholds, somehow, like hustling people at the city public lake. It’s easy money.
Hey youth, fifty bucks says I can swim across the lake faster than you, with this cigarette in my mouth.
No way tubby, you are on.
It’s a source of frustration for me as I bump my head against the low ceiling of my genetic limitations. “You can be whatever you want to be!” That is such nonsense. Every professional rider is a genetic freak, they certainly aren’t physiologically normal. It’s not all hard work and desire. It may be all hard work, desire and a better than average cardiovascular system. Training, weight loss, diet will bring one up to one’s own maximum fitness but we are all bracketed by how we chose our parents. Having the perfect amount of dumb may be my only professional qualification. I don’t want to be a pro, I just want to casually crush my friends and I can’t.
Greg LeMond did a fantastic job choosing his parents. As a junior he was beating the best seniors in the country. As a twenty-two year old he was winning the World Championship. LeMond took his natural talent and went out there, got his ass handed to him and kicked some ass too. I admire his jumping into the deep end when Sean Kelly and Bernard Hinault were already in the pool, waiting for him. I like Andy Schleck less because I sense he is relying more on his natural talent than hard work.
The guys I really admire are the ones who are dealt a less generous genetic hand and still make it into the professional ranks and get a little glory. Ludo Dierckxens is my kind of rider. He was working full time painting trucks at the DAF factory yet training after work and racing on the weekends. The selection to become a professional rider in Belgium must be the toughest in the world. At age thirty he signed his first contract for Saxon (?!) in 1994 and strung together professional contracts until he landed on Lampre in 1998. In 1999 he won the Belgian Road Championship and won the 11th stage in the Tour. Most professionals would be happy with those palmares.
Fabian Wegmann is another great rider to watch, he always looks to be on the edge of anaerobic destruction, dying just to stay on a wheel. I can relate to that.
But enough of the professionals, I’m a little sick of them right now. We are the ideal cyclists. We ride for the fun rather than the money. We get all the pleasure and as much pain as we care to endure and then as much as it takes to get back to the house. It is perfect.
Early on as a cyclist I understood I had chosen my parents badly. I wasn’t paying attention. I take that bit of information, fold it up and put it away in a drawer when I go out on the bike. I am still healthy enough to ride myself into the ground. Occasionally I can outsmart someone, or scrub off less speed in the corners or use my awesome mass to distance people on descents. I may get shelled when the road goes up but I’m going to look good when it happens. I take my quiet little victories when I can.
This video is a bit the of 2006 Giro Lombardia. Wegmann is the last man still with il Grillo as the race gets serious. Wegmann drops his flash light deep in the pain cave. Enjoy.
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Let me put it that way: We (or at least most of us) are spending money to ride for the fun!
GREAT article Gianni! It's a thought that's often with me: whether I'm being dropped on the Tuesday night training bash or grinding slowly up an alpine climb whilst communing with butterflies: it's all my parents fault!
Nothing to do with the fact that I'm always two months from peaking, my poor diet and excessive alcohol consumption. If only they had blessed me with better genes then I'd be flying up those climbs like il Pirata (only without the performance enhancing and recreational drugs of course, just in case anyone else accuses me of worshiping fallen heroes).
The associated thought that I often comfort myself with is that it's much harder for us average cyclists than it is for the pros.
Take something like a typical mountain stage of the Tour. Five hours perhaps for a pro. But for me: up to eight hours. But the key thing is this: we will both be working at a roughly similar intensity level relative to our genetic abilities, but him for only five hours versus eight for me.
So, who are the real Hard men and women? The pros? Or us, who will still be flogging ourselves up those climbs three hours after the pro has had his shower, post ride massage and is safely aboard his luxury team bus on his way to the hotel?!
@Mikeweb
oh man, the pain on his face. That is bike racing. Unbelievable.
Nice one Gianni my friend... ultimately, we ride for fun. The pain and suffering may seem like the furthest thing from fun as we endure it, but the rewards when we come out the other side are well worth it.
In the last two days I've had two of the funnest rides recently (and there have been a lot). Both totally unplanned and opportunistic. After a day of working behind a computer with wind and cloud, the sun peeped through and the gusts died down around 6pm. I wrestled with the 'shall I/shan't I' demons and got on my mtb for a quick loop of a favorite trail. I rode hard on the climb and bombed the downhill, crashing at one point. I came home feeling no matter if I didn't get to ride again for a few days, that I still had a complete week.
The next day, a full day in the shop and a shitty disposition due to a huge car repair bill, all I wanted was to have a couple of beers. I saw two of Spoke's reviewers kitting up for a ride, had a chat and wished I was going out too. Still, beer seemed necessary. I called in at my mate's shop for the regular Friday social drinks. A couple beers later and an invite for a night ride was put out. More beers and the promise of "a little, easy loop"... 3 hours later, on no food, water run out, motor senses put to the test on trails I'd never ridden, hammered by climbing gurus and I arrived home at 11pm with the feeling of a best-ever ride.
That's what it's all about.
@Mikeweb
and the emotion of Bettini shown slo-mo in the last thirty seconds. That also captures the beauty and pain endured in our sport. I love Italian cyclists, they know true passion and emotion.
@wiscot Cipollini wore all white, even in the rain!
Great post, Gianni. Hammering home yesterday (late) with backpack and bow tie, I blew past a kid kitted out for a proper ride. He made some comment about me on a singlespeed passing him. I wish I'd just called back: "It's the genes," instead of some apologetic "I'm in a hurry and probably not going as far as you..."
But save a thought for state of mind (which needn't be genetic). Today, in cold and windy conditions at the end of an incredibly hectic week, I got kitted out in Johnny Cash Black, three weeks from having adhered to Rule 50, and put in 2.5 hours. It wasn't about looking fabulous, and while I'm sure I owe a great deal to my parents for any athletic ability I might have, the ride had more to do with will and determination to get out in the first place. That's not genetic: it's cultivated.
@ken
I'm sure we are as fried or more so after a long ride. We are working as hard but going slower so we actually suffer a lot longer. I bet no pro would be as wasted as I am after my Sunday group ride. What does all that mean? Who knows.
@Oli
Cipo gets a pass, on everything. He is Cipo.
@czmiel
True, but after the initial bike purchase it starts to get pretty cheap on the cost/fun ratio.