Fitness. The rhythm, the feeling of precision in our movement, the sensations of The Ride. The temptation of knowing we might in some way control our suffering even as we push harder in spite of the searing pain in our legs and lungs. The notion that through suffering, we might learn something rudimentary about ourselves – that we might find a kind of salvation.
Cycling, like Art, is based on the elementary notion that through focussed study, we might better understand ourselves. But to describe Cycling as a an Art does it an injustice. An artist, they say, suffers because they must. A Cyclist, I suggest, suffers because we choose to.
This element of choice, what psychologists refer to as the locus of control, is part of what allows us to feel pleasure through suffering. Through this choice unfolds an avenue of personal discovery by which we uncover the very nature of ourselves. Like Michelangelo wielding his hammer to chip away fragments of stone that obscure a great sculpture, we turn our pedals to chip away at our form, eventually revealing our true selves as a manifestation of hard work, determination, and dedication to our craft.
Having chosen this path, we quickly find that riding a bicycle on warm, dry roads through sunny boulevards is the realm of the recreational cyclist. As winter approaches, the days get shorter and the weather worse. Form tempts us to greater things, but leaves us quickly despite our best intentions. Its taste lingers long upon the tongue and urges us to gain more. Even as life gets in the way, we cannot afford many days away from our craft before we find ourselves struggling to reclaim lost fitness.
To find form in the first place, and to maintain it in the second, is a simple matter of riding your bicycle a lot. This simple task asks of us, however, a year-round commitment to throwing our leg over a toptube in heat, cold, wind, rain, or sleet, lest we spend months fighting to reclaim last year’s lost condition.
But with riding in bad weather is revealed a hidden secret. It is in the rain and the cold, when all the seductive elements of riding a bicycle have vanished, that we are truly able to ensconce ourselves in the elemental qualities of riding a bicycle. Good weather and beautiful scenery, after all, are distractions from the work. Without them, we have only those elements that we ourselves bring to The Ride: the rhythm, harmony between rider and machine, our suffering, and our thoughts. As the rain pours down and all but the most devoted stay indoors, we pull on extra clothing and submit into the deluge.
We are the Few, we are the Committed. We are those who understand that riding in bad weather means you’re a badass, period.
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@minion
Good ol'Bob Roll, what a goofy mother-f#%ker.
@Marko
All that I can think of every time I see Hinault with a bidon is the Phil Anderson bidon sharing story. Cracks me up every time.
...just because I can...
@Buck Rogers
Because you asked for it...
Anderson and Hinault finished 27 seconds after Van Impe, and while the Australian stood proudly in yellow, Hinault had nothing but contempt for Anderson 'daring' to challenge him. It was even worse when Anderson just sat on his wheel - still hoping for news of Bernaudeau who had been long dropped - until Peugeot directeur-sportif Maurice De Muer told him he could work 'a bit' at the front. "It was just as well, as Hinault was going off his block," said Anderson, who had four other riders with him in the front group: Van Impe, Belgian Claude Criquelion, and the Spanish pair of Marino Lejarreta and Alberto Fernandez. Without knowing it, Anderson was to earn even greater wrath from Hinault by naively offering him a swill from his bidon (drink bottle). The Frenchman, taking the gesture as an insult, promptly swiped it from Anderson's hand. "I didn't even know who Hinault was. I couldn't even pronounce his name. But I was there with him and when I gave him my bidon. I was only trying to be sportsmanlike. I figured something was really up when he hit it away. I suppose I should have been intimidated by it all, but I wasn't. Heck, I was Australian and couldn't even spell Hinault, let alone know who he was," says Anderson.
@Oli
And whilst this will not help you in your quest to know that the APS is, Anderson went to an AGS school (next door to my APS school). Understand now?
@Oli
Okay, you've completely got me there. Who, what, when and where? Is that RDV in a Brooklyn jersey in there?
@Marcus
Isn't that the BEST story. Kills me every time. I think it also kills me a bit as I have fought with Aussie Special Forces guys in Afghanistan and also climbed with a crazy son-of-a-bitch from Australia in the Himilaya and that story is just so typical. Just love it.
@Marcus
APS - Australian Polwarth School
AGS - Australian Gromark School
As all things Australian, the schools center around which breed of sheep is the preferred shag and is the cause of much violence.
@Buck Rogers
Interesting photo!
One, it's the 78 Giro as Moser won the World Championships in 1977.
Two, it's reversed. Unless they rode really weird bikes in 78.
Three, I'm not sure who the Brooklyn rider is. It can't be Roger de Vlaeminck or Johan De Muynck as both had moved on from Brooklyn in 78 - Roger to Sanson (and a teammate of Moser's) and Johan to Bianchi-Faema. De Muynck won the Giro in 78 too!
Four, I'm not sure I've ever seen a pic of Saronni in a SCIC jersey riding a Colnago. I always thought he rode Bottechia when he was with SCIC.
Fab pics Oli - thanks for posting!
@itburns
Most of the instructors are from Aberdeen (or so I've been told . . . .)