Rapha Ex Duris Gloria Cycling

1. 'i^anha.
FX
DURIS
GLORIA
GLORY THROUGH SUFFERING
ANESSAYBYGRAEMEFIFE
The history of cycle racing abounds
with stories of endurance, willpower
and sheercourage on an epicscale.The
capacity of bike riders to drive them
selves relentlessly, dayafterdaythrough
the pain barrierand waybeyondmakes
them a breedapart.They redefinehero
ismin sport.The sufferingisgratuitous,
the mileagethey coverHerculean,and
both make a cruciblein which a unique
character is forged: an apparently
cheerfulindifferenceto the pain inflict
ed by bike and road, suffused with the
transcendentdesireto conquerboth.
The greatestbatdeis not physical but
psychological. The demons telling us
to give up when we push ourselves to
the limitcan neverbe silenced forgood.
They must always be answered by the
quiet steadydignitythat simplyrefuses
to give in. Call no man brave,say the
Spanish, say only that on a particular
day he showed himself brave. Such
strength of character radiates from
every bike rider who has shown the
requisitecouragenot to yield,has won
hisdignity,dayafterday.
The true test of any rider's mettle is
the road. How much punishment can
you take on a bike?Youwill only find
out after you hear the voicein yourhead
sa)dng,'No, you've had it, any more of
tliisbatteringandyou'regoingtoweak
en fatally',and yet,for some reasonbest
left to God and guesswork,carryingon
anyway. Everytime that happens,into a
savage headwind...on the sharpknocks
of the Chilterns... the will-sapping
hauls of the Continental monsters, the
experience is part of a continuum,the
repeatedbattleagainstsurrender.
No crowdscheer us lessermortals up
the big climbs,but the mountains are
open and mountains are rarely, if ever,
finished withyou.No matterhowoften
you climb them, you neverbeat them:
eachtimeyoustart at the bottom,from
scratch.Reputationwillnot takeyouup
a climb.The physical battle has always
to be repeated. Through every repeat,
mentalstrengthaccumulates.
The Tourmalet, lassoed by mist,
2,ooom up in the Circle of Death,
where Apo Lazarides climbedoff one
day to wait for the others for fear of
Pyrenean bears. The dreaded Mont
Ventoux, Domain of the Angels. Col
du Galibier, the Giant of theAlps,'pre
mier cm'to the 'vin ordinaire'ofthe rest.
That's where you can followthe Tour,
into the thin air,up the relentless hair
pins,yourtyreshissing across the tar
maccatalogue ofTour riders whomade
the samejourney.
Sufferingis one thing; knowinghow
to suffer is quite another.You look at
the dizzyingpeaksand sayto yourself:
What? Up there? Mad notion... and
the experience of the hardestmostex
hilaratingcyclingyou can everaccom
plish is on you.The great gauntlet on
two wheels, the triumph of inner re
solve over disbelief.
For the mountains are the extreme
case,where you reallyfind out about
yourself, in thosescaryrealms of phys
ical and mental exertion taken to the
limit. Remote altitudes of geography,
unplumbeddepths in yourspirit. Even
localfolklorerecognisesthe weird forc
es at work on the cyclist chancing his
fateagainsthorriblegradients.Up here,
they say, is where the black-hearted
ogresof bad luck hang out: the Witch
with Green Teeth and Hammerman,
quick to pounce on any slip in your
resolve. Bogeymen personifying the
mysterious factors which can freeze
your nervewith the lonelyprospectof
failure.That's why we speak of heroism
in cycling:it's elemental.
This is the ultimate proving time.
The spells of mind-numbing dysfunc
tion when your head fillswith discon
nected trivia and only the wheels, still
respondingto the pedalstroke,like the
cogwheels in yourbrain's clock, seemto
have any logic about them. Mechani
callyyoumutter:if the roadgoeson,so
can I. As Brian Robinson, first Briton to
finish the Tour de France (1955) said to
RAP HAXC/KINGSOF PAIN
himself: "I lookedat the other guysand
thought, they're thesame asme- ifthey
can do it, I can."Good reasoningbe
cause there's no ducking the argument.
It's simple:I can'tgo on. I must go on.
I willgo on.
And throughthe bleakperiodwhen
your wandering mind gets obsessed
with the idea that you're finished- oh,
it happens - you persist and you are
learningthe corelesson of cycling, just
aseverytrue riderlearntit: on this road,
in this duress,you livein the moment
with allyourforce, in the intensity, the
fullness of the moment.Do you knowa
better definition of exhilaration?
Riding up the Col de la Core one
blistering hot afternoon (firstcategory,
Pyrenees) I was passed by a string of
Frattfaise desJeux riders. As their last
man went by,danglingoff the back,he
gaveme awave. Courage. We allsuffer.
Keepgoing.
But if something hurts so much,
how can it be enjoyable? At the point
wherephysical stressbeginsto takeyou
beyondwhat you imagineto be endur
able,you enter new territoryof under
standing, an expanded psychological
landscape. The camaraderie of the hard
road is as much in sharing that insight
asin the laughsyouhave,ridingingood
company.The bikeisthe perfectvehicle
to takeyoudown thosesecretcorridors
of illumination. The pleasure comes
whenyougraspjustwhat hashappened
inside your head and spirit. It doesn't
stop when the bike stops, when you
reachthe topof the color peeloffat the
end of the ride, so tired you can hardly
thinkor stand straight.That'swherethe
pleasure begins.The self-knowledge.
Behind glory lies the misery of
training, the slog of getting through
bad days,the torment of going at less
than your best and the absolute con
viction that giving up is never an op
tion. Herein lies the heroism of this
beautiful sport, the inner revelation
that makes the cyclist impervious to
ordinary weakness because every ride
he has ever made exposes him to that
defeatist voice; he has known it, faced it
and conqueredthe fearof it, againand
againand again.
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