Marco Velo meets the Kemmelberg
There’re two things certain in Cycling: pain, and more pain. How we attain either, each or both of them can present itself in many forms. When you take out your brand new bike for its maiden voyage, lean it against a wall at the pub apres ride and manage to gouge a chunk of paint of the seatstay when you stumble aboard after a pint too many, that hurts. Climbing a 22% cobbled wall, that hurts. The emptiness in your legs after 150km in the heat or cold and the only way home is up, yep that hurts. And crashing. That can hurt more than anything.
It’s not just the physical damage sustained in a bender that can make you cry, or want to. The longer term effects can be more painful than the actual bruises, cuts or broken bones. And when you start to think about crashing before anything has even happened, well that can fuck with your mind and produce stress that isn’t really needed when you’re already dealing with other riders, cars and trucks, or trees, rocks and roots. The Fear of crashing can be your worst enemy, and possibly the catalyst for the result you’re desperate to avoid.
As soon as Keepers Tour 15 was confirmed, two things were apparent: I needed to get into shape for the long days on the cobbles, and I needed to stay uninjured so I’d be able to ride the cobbles and possibly have a chance of injuring myself on them in April. The Fear started eating away at me. Not the fear of getting hit by one of the thousands of angry motorists with a hatred of cyclists that are encountered every week, but a fear of myself and my ability to ride a mountain bike fairly quickly; the fear of steep and technical terrain; the fear of limited traction; and the fear of a competitive nature, as I’d entered a couple of enduro races held on some of the nastiest (but insanely fun) trails in the country. Already I was mentally defeated. I had to confront The Fear head on.
Instead, what I did was give away my entry to the nastier of the races to one of my mates and Spoke mag colleagues… he was gutted at missing out, I had nothing to prove by racing it, and it seemed the noble thing to do. At least that’s how I justified the fear I was experiencing. The other race is on trails I’ve never ridden, and my plan to ‘ride/not race’ it lessens the chances of crashing. At least that’s what I’m telling myself. Being only two weeks before KT15 is a bit of a worry, but there’s still time to pull out!
So for the last four weeks my mountain bike has gone untouched. Not entirely due to The Fear, a little bit of circumstance with weather, work, festivities and building up some endurance on the road bike. Today I hit the dirt. Literally. There wasn’t much Fear involved, the ride was nearing the end and all the sensations were good. Maybe too good. I was riding well, in control and fairly pacy. On a trail I’d ridden hundreds of times before, on an innocuous corner, a small rabbit darted across the track in front of me and instinct dictated that I try and miss it. My front wheel caught the soft edge and before I knew it my KT was flashing before my eyes as I hit the rocky ground with a thud. A fair bit of skin donated to the earth and a decent whack of the head, but nothing to put me out of action for the rest of the ride or the coming weeks. Certainly nothing compared the trauma @ChrisO is going through right now. And then I remember @itburns and perspective really hits home.
As I sit here with blood congealing on my arm and a dull headache and hazy recollections of the moments after the impact, I feel that conceding to The Fear will never be wise. If we let it win, then we’d never step foot out of the house and sling a leg over any top tube, whether it be sloped and fat or svelte and flat. Risk is always there when we ride our bikes, but it’s there in everything we do every minute of every day. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to stop riding for three months so I can ride in three months.
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@antihero
Facing your fears like that may be reckless, but it can be liberating. I do live in the desert, so it doesn't rain often - but when it rains it pours, and I've been trying my best to avoid riding in those conditions, when visibility is nonexistent, floods and oilslicks are plentiful and drivers barely notice where they're going. I've raced in those conditions on closed roads, and ridden with my team with a trailing car for protection, but I had a deep, inner fear of heading out there on my own which I knew I had to confront (especially with plans of a postgrad in England floating around).
So when the forecast last weekend called for storm, I decided to raid my carefully curated Rule 9 cabinet and head out no matter what. After three hours of pouring rain, without a single cyclist in sight, I pulled up at the end with a grin reserved only for the stupid and the utterly happy. Next time it rains I won't be so hesitant to head out again. I might remember to pack a windproof and kneewarmers, though.
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@tessar
It's only water.
@brett
Two years ago, my coach and I were discussing his own ambitions for the coming season: Qualifying for, and racing, the Ironman World Championship in Hawaii. Later, when discussing my own plans, he suggested I take up MTBing to sharpen up my handling and "add an arrow to the quiver", so to speak. As luck would have it, our plans matched: "Take my MTB away from me, I can't afford to crash. Just use it."
And so a Lefty-forked 'Dale found a place in my stable. Way too much bike for me to handle, but I enjoyed tackling the trails with my girlfriend's dad and, indeed, improve my technical riding. He (and the GF's teenage brother) still drop me on some technical sections just because they don't fear it as much as I do. Some of my most magical moments came when I blindly followed wheels down descents, with the mantra "If they can, so can I" proving that the grip is there, just the confidence is lacking.
The coach? He qualified, and went to Hawaii. Meanwhile, a sponsor change meant his entire stable was replaced, and the 'Dale was no longer needed. He since managed to crash hard twice, once breaking a wrist and once a collarbone. In both cases he was back on a turbo within a week or two. Too bad I can't take the new Superfly away from him as well, "too keep him safe".
@RobSandy
Like I said, I don't fear the water itself. In fact, I probably spend more time in it than is appropriate for a Velominatus. It's the zero-visibility downpours that do me in, and because it's a very dry country, there's lots of oil buildup on the roads and drivers who haven't got a clue.
@antihero
O, brother, I do know first hand what I'm talking about. Can't imaging telling your family or friends "I must not fear, so FUCK IT. Go." It sounds thoughtless to me. Poor form to use the "not riding enough" tactic as well.
@tessar
I know, I know. I was just being facetious. I rode in freezing rain on Boxing Day and no matter how much I meditated on The V, after an hour or so I just wanted to be back home.
I live in Wales so if I wasn't prepared to ride in the rain, I wouldn't ride.
@brett
Hmm, never thought about the flashing lights being distracting. Would like to discuss and read a study or two on these. I run a front flasher at most times on road rides, both during light and of course when dark. On commutes I run one on steady, one on flash.
@Ron
My thoughts on flashing lights: i hate them! And those superbright 2 million lumen light in city trafic? Hate them too! On desolate roads or for mtb, they are however perfect!
I ride a lot in the dark (this being belgium the sun only comes up for working hours), on parts through the city a use a reasonable bright light, once outside traffic I use a very bright light. Since the road I mostly take is not lit it's just me and my cone of light. I like it!
Untill it's raining and cold and dark and I have a flat....
But bottom line, no flashing lights!
Safe to say that I'm doing something wrong... Sorry for that very empty message... Let's try again...
@Ron
My thoughts on flashing lights: I hate them! And those superbright million-lumen lights used in the city or traffic? I hate them too! What's the use in blinding everybody around you? You want light to be seen, but you don't need your light to see. On silent roads or mtb however, they are great! Oh, and while I'm at it, those tiny lights you get for free: ban them too!
These days I regularly ride in the dark (this being Belgium, the sun only shines during working hours). In the city I use a decent, clearly visible light, once I'm outside of trafic I use a very bright light. The road I usually take is not lit and it's only my lightcone and me, the rest just disappears. I like it!
Until it's dark and cold and raining and I have a flat... ;)
But bottom line, no flashing lights! It's like @brett says they are just more difficult to assess. The same goes for lights mounted on helmets, it takes me twice as long to identify that lone flying light as a cyclist with a light mounted on his helmet.
Hmm, now I'm sorely confused. Frank has suggested a helmet-mounted light is a good idea to identify yourself as a non-motorcyclist.
I've been using one on steady, plus a bar-mounted light, for winter (dark) commutes. The helmet light is great because it's disoriented when you look left or right and can't see anything.
And yes, helmet lights are GREAT if you have a flat. If you've ever tried fixing a puncture in the country with no street or city lights and only bar-mounted lights you'll know why.
And lights being too bright...do you really think a cycling light, no matter how bright, is brighter than the new fancy headlights on BMWs and Audis? Seems hard to believe.