On The Road
by: Bill Oetinger 4/1/2000
The Dubious Importance of Being Fast
We've been having an interesting discussion in our local cycling club over the past few weeks. It has been a lively dialogue--if a round-robin forum with many participants can be called a dialogue--and although no one has lost their temper yet, feelings have been running pretty high. It has been what politicians like to call, a "frank exchange of ideas".
The subject is Pace, or the speed at which we ride on our club rides. More precisely, it has been about the ratings system we use to characterize upcoming rides and then the disparity between the advertised speed and the actual speed at which the riders eventually move on down the road. This is a complex subject, and difficulties in this department are not unique to our club. I've seen other discussions in other clubs on the same subject. No one can seem to agree on a bomb-proof formula for rating rides (because what people want out of rides and cycling is as different as all the different people who call themselves cyclists and show up on club rides).
It's not the intent of this particular column to try and sort out this problem however. This column was inspired by one comment I heard during this discussion from one member of our club, and it has to do with how we see ourselves as cyclists.
First a little background: our club - the Santa Rosa Cycling Club of Sonoma County, California - is what I think of as a fairly typical contemporary cycling club. A few hundred members, most leaning toward the "recreational" end of the cycling spectrum. While we have quite a few young members, the majority of club members could safely be called middle-aged. As a rule, we're not racers, although some members are fast enough to occasionally race, and many more will tackle other sorts of challenges, such as centuries, double centuries, or even longer ultra-marathon events. But the bulk of the members simply enjoy riding together in social gaggles...doing 30 to 60 miles on a Saturday morning--soaking up the wonderful backroad scenery--then repairing to the nearest taqueria for a burrito feed. We regroup often to let slower riders catch up to the leaders, and in general, we try to foster a feeling of inclusiveness rather that exclusiveness on our rides. Everyone is welcome and encouraged.
And yet, during this discussion about the wide range of speeds one encounters on weekend rides, it has become painfully clear that not everyone feels equally welcome nor particularly encouraged. The one phrase that really jumped out at me was made by a woman who said she was tired of "being made to feel like a second-class citizen" because she couldn't ride as fast as some of the other club members.
First of all, I want to state as strongly as I can that I believe this feeling of being second-class is entirely self-imposed. I don't believe for a minute that the faster riders in our club look down on or in any way disparage others who might ride at a more moderate speed. This may be true in other clubs, or among the elite ranks of racers (although I seriously doubt it), but it almost certainly is not the case in our group.
But the fact remains that this person and presumably many others still feel as if they are somehow less worthy because they can't keep up with the top guns in the club. Why is this?
Most cyclists have at least a passing interest in the highest levels of competition in the cycling world: the Tour de France of course; perhaps RAAM or the Olympics; and maybe even an awareness of classics such as Paris-Roubaix. After all, results for these races are just a mouse-click away on the 'net. We're all inspired by the feats of stamina and strength and skill the best of the best can produce for us, and I think a little of that aura tends to infect us all. Who among us has not turned onto a country road, seen another cyclist far ahead, and slightly stepped up our cadence, with a goal of reeling in that distant rider? As we tap out a determined tempo on the pedals, we hear in our mind a running commentary from Phil Liggett about our impressive performance. Dreams of glory!
Sometimes I think we're all born with some atavistic competitive urge...a will to dominate...perhaps tied to mating and survival of the fittest. In cycling, it manifests itself as what I call the "chase gene." Like hounds after a rabbit, almost all cyclists are unable to resist the urge to chase down the bike up the road, and failure to catch that bike often seems--at least subliminally--like a failure of some essential life force within us. We feel defeated, deflated, discouraged, diminished...we may in fact feel like "second-class citizens." When we get dropped off the back of the main group on a ride, we feel like the old bull, culled from the herd, useless and lonely and cut off from the vital energy at the heart of the community.
These feelings--or some similar manifestation of them--are understandable. But they are also almost completely irrelevant to the enjoyment of cycling...
Let's face it: being first or fastest has very little bearing on why most of us are out there riding our bikes. Virtually 100% of the cyclists in this world are incapable of winning the Tour de France, and 99% of us are unlikely to win anything more prestigious than the occasional sprint for a city limit sign or a little semi-painful bout of half-wheel-hell on a climb with our buddies. Most of us aren't up for winning much of anything, and most of us, if we're really honest with ourselves, have virtually no interest in winning anything. Most of us are out there cycling to enjoy the fresh air, the scenery, the good company, and the feeling of simply exercising our bodies and spirits in a way that is fun, relaxing, and generally very healthful. Winning or being first is at best a spicy little accent flavor added to the generally laid-back, socially inclusive nature of our rides. Each of us rides at the speed that is most comfortable for getting us from one place to another.
It really doesn't matter--or shouldn't matter--what your speed is, nor should it matter how briskly you climb hills or how boldly you descend them. All that matters is that you're out there, cycling. If you can ride 30 miles over rolling terrain--regardless of your speed--you're already a winner: you're doing something very few other humans can do. If you can ride 50 or 100 miles, you're in extremely elite company, able to do something probably 90% of the adult population of the United States can't do. Heck, just propelling a bike up any one of the many steep hills in our hilly county is probably more than most folks could do without stopping half-way up the hill to gasp and wheeze. And that includes all the supposedly young and fit 20-somethings. If you're older than that, insert your own age in this sentence and consider how the numbers stack up: "How many ___-year olds could have done the ride I did today?"
I'm assuming that if you've read this far into this column, you are indeed one of those cyclists who can do the things outlined above, and maybe more. If so, you should never, ever think of yourself as any sort of second-class citizen because there are other riders out there who are faster. There will always be other riders who are faster. Big deal. Instead of looking at the relatively small number of folks who may be faster than you, turn around and look behind you at the millions and millions of folks who can't even imagine what it would be like to ride 20 miles at a stretch. From that perspective, you--all of you--look like superstars.
Bill can be reached at srccride@sonic.net