The Hammer and the Nail

Sometimes you’re the hammer, sometimes you’re the nail. I was a cheapy little Ikea one today. It was terrible.

– Geraint Thomas

It is strange, the workings of a the Cyclist as an organism. We are of three autonomous parts, Head, Body, and Legs. In the short term, there is little that fundamentally changes between them, yet their symbiosis can vary wildly; one day we are an unstoppable force and the next, little more than a tourist.

Condition is built gradually over a the length of a season or many seasons; it does not arrive in the post on a prescribed day just as it does not depart the train station per a schedule when its stay has come to an end. Yet, somehow, our performances can vary as though this were the case. This dramatic change is most commonly driven by the mind, a fragile beast that balances upon a knife’s edge where the slightest push can send our performance sky high or plummeting into the fiery depths of despair.

This is what drives the Cyclist as an aesthetic creature; clean bar tape, freshly shaven guns, and neatly arranged kit is the most effective way to control our form from day to day; no sense fooling with diet, or power meters – neither of those will tell you how Fantastic you look.

Which is why our investigative team, Research Unit for Logical Explanations of the Velominati ( RULEV ) has concluded that Geraint cracked horribly due to psychological injuries caused by losing his trademark white Jawbones, which were obviously his hidden Scepter of Morale. He looks magic in those shades, and complete crap in the Radars he was forced to ride in the following days. Our study also indicates that he could have avoided disaster by paying to overnight his new Jawbones in time to race in them again at the Tour; there are only so many days you can look crap before you start riding like crap.

To expand on Paul Fournel’s famous line: to look good is already to go fast, and to look crap is already to go slow.

frank

The founder of Velominati and curator of The Rules, Frank was born in the Dutch colonies of Minnesota. His boundless physical talents are carefully canceled out by his equally boundless enthusiasm for drinking. Coffee, beer, wine, if it’s in a container, he will enjoy it, a lot of it. He currently lives in Seattle. He loves riding in the rain and scheduling visits with the Man with the Hammer just to be reminded of the privilege it is to feel completely depleted. He holds down a technology job the description of which no-one really understands and his interests outside of Cycling and drinking are Cycling and drinking. As devoted aesthete, the only thing more important to him than riding a bike well is looking good doing it. Frank is co-author along with the other Keepers of the Cog of the popular book, The Rules, The Way of the Cycling Disciple and also writes a monthly column for the magazine, Cyclist. He is also currently working on the first follow-up to The Rules, tentatively entitled The Hardmen. Email him directly at rouleur@velominati.com.

View Comments

  • Legs come when they come.  Sometimes that's at a time that suits, sometimes it's truly wasted.  So attack, because you don't know if you don't.

  • A nice pair of Briko Stingers would have done the trick keeping those Charisma points in the positive.

  • Spot. On. In short it is the alignment of the cycling planets. Form, mental shape, weather, the right gear. All four aligned for me on Saturday.

    A 160 kms charity ride last week as done with no difficulty. The form was good.

    Friday was annual medical checkup. After taking my blood pressure and pulse, the nurse asked me "why are you here?" (112/68, resting pulse 68. BTW I'm on the wrong side of 50) Doc says "Amazing, keep doing what you're doing." Mentally I was psyched.

    Saturday was warm (high 70s), a little overcast, minimal wind. Weather ideal.

    Th bb noise was sorted, the shoes comfy over long distances. The gear well fitting and coordinated. My trusty white Serfas glasses clean and over the straps. I looked good.

    A solo century 160kms was on the cards. At 150 kms I tapped into some hidden energy reserves. Let's ride as far as I could until dark, I thought. I ended up at 210 kms. Friends and co-workers think I'm crazy, but they cannot comprehend how much pleasure the ride gave me - mentally and physically. To know I can do a ride like this means a lot to me. Will I top it this year? Not sure. I just have to start earlier, but that's easy when everything else aligns.

  • I view a kit that isn't quite right that I'm wearing and not entirely happy with as a distraction and therefore a drain on energy.

  • If he had of worn the whites, 50% of his daily V requirements would have already been satisfied, rest was just a matter of fuel and form. Instead, he had to start from scratch.  Amateur effort !

  • I am now Training Properly and the low-intensity phase I'm in has meant letting my mates drop me on some climbs, then catching them up on the downhill. So while I know that I am just laying the groundwork for the massive hammer I will be by next spring, I appear to them to have become the cheapest of Ikea drawing pins.

    My discipline is being tested.

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