le grimpeur

Reflections and memories
Guy WR posted in Posts on December 13th, 2009

Winter is a pensive time for cycling fans. We have no longer our own exploits or the daring deeds of the professional peloton to sustain our enthusiasm; thoughts inevitably slip to plans for next year – usually inflated by bravado – as well to quiet contemplation, perhaps assisted by a glass of the appropriate festive spirit.

What exactly is it about cycle racing that captivates us so? Part of it, surely, is the spectacle of athletic achievement. We like to see a job well done; human capacity pushed to its limits; and – let’s admit it – pain and suffering in the service of elusive glory.

Being a fan also has an aspirational aspect. We know, individually, our own limits and that those limits are far short of the pro peloton in most cases. But we get a vicarious thrill from association, that somehow – through our own riding and support of racing – that we are contributing to a greater whole of sublime physical performance, of bettering oneself and working in service of higher values.

There are also stylistic elements, perhaps best captured by the remarkable success of Rapha and its magazine Rouleur. There is something inherently cool about the pro peloton (despite many unfortunate fashion choices over the years), a kind of European insouciance always mixed with an impeccable attention to presentation and with a nod to cutting-edge technologies. And the coolness factor appears to increase the further back in time one goes, and if the photo-spread is in black and white it boosts it even further.

How ever much we rationalize it and search for meaning, there is something about being a cycling fan that defies analysis. It is, at its heart, a surrender to passion – it’s more about heart than head.

This is a curious conclusion is some ways. The Tour de France and its grand tour cousins are spectacles of sporting wonderment to stir the emotions. Smaller races, though, lack the spectacle and that they still stir the fans into support is a source of some confusion.

Perhaps further exposition is needed. In 2008, your author followed part of the Dauphiné Libéré around the south of France. The long-running race is a favourite for the stars and the pro-tour teams in preparing for the Tour and has seen much great racing over its history.

It has a decidedly provincial feel to it, however. The publicity caravan is visible but not a patch on the behemoth that plies the roads during the Tour; the crowds are small and dedicated, but it has the feeling of a weekend or weekday picnic outing rather than a frenzy of cycling supporters; there are no barriered areas for riders – they simply exit their buses, mingle with the fans, and find their bikes for a warm-up. If you squint your eyes a little, it takes on the appearance of a well-attended, funded, and organized regional national champs rather than a premier world-class cycling race for the top professionals.

The riders may seem relaxed for this casual local outing, but the racing – of course – is serious. Prize money, glory and reputations are on the line. After a stage, the riders are quick to disappear from the finish line area, dodging the media, and find their team crew and the safety of the team bus. After a tough day at the office, they just want to get ‘home’ as quickly as possible. Tomorrow is another day in the saddle, next week another race, and next month perhaps a major Tour. There is little time to bask in the glory of pro racing or to enjoy the adulation of fans; all this must be balanced by the routine requirements of what may be a glamorous job, but a very demanding one.

So once the grand spectacle is stripped away, what are we left with? What spectacle do hard-working, skilled and gifted riders performing the duties of their profession provide? If the race is not exciting enough to make them slip their masks, how can our passions be stirred by their lack of passion? Where is the spectacle of another day at the office?

Still, when the slight hush falls over the finish-line crowd, when the big screen by the line shoes the first riders – perhaps just ahead of the peloton – rounding the bend of the last kilometre, when the camera motorbikes zoom into the pit area and quickly form into a row, and you can hear the sound of tyres carving into the tarmac, the hum of spokes spinning through the air, and feel the riders’ tension as they bear down on the line, it’s hard not to be invigorated, to feel to build of excitement…

It may not be the Tour, but there is something inescapable about the beauty of cycling, something that defies any attempts at rationalization. Even the smallest stage on the most insignificant of races gives us a glimpse into why we’re cycling fans: we just can’t help ourselves.

And let your author be honest for a moment, patient reader; following cycling around the small villages and towns of southern France, with attendant spectacular scenery, each special in its own way (and carefully chosen to be so by the race organizers) is not a small pleasure. Flush with the relaxing tonic of being on holiday (and perhaps a little too flush with local tonics) certainly gives rose-tinted glasses. But why complain? Those memories will sustain true cycling fans for many cold and dark winter months to come.

Thanks to all those who have read this blog this year, and apologies for some posting delays in the last few months. I hope to have the Greg LeMond series wrapped up early in the New Year. Oh, and the grimpeur of the year? Julian Dean. Yes.