Relative Something

I can’t figure out what it is about Alberto Contador that explains why I find it difficult to appreciate his incredible abilities as a mountain climber. If you don’t know who he is, you have not been paying attention to cycle racing in the last few years. Ever since Lance Armstrong retired from racing, and even after he returned to try again, Alberto has been the strongest climber, and as a result, the man to beat in the big races. So why don’t I like him? I don’t know. But doesn’t every drama need a villain? I will let him be mine. I’m cheering for Andy Schleck, a guy whom I used to hope would fail in his attempts to challenge Lance. Now I wish for him to somehow find a way to out-smart the wily Spanish rider, Contador.

In the race yesterday, they climbed a mountain where the ascent was longer than the distance I ride to work, and they did it at a faster speed uphill than I can ride on flat terrain. I’m pretty sure I could ride faster if people stood on the shoulder of the road along my route and shouted encouragement. Oh, and if they cleared all the cars off the road and let me blow through the intersections, that would help a lot, too.

You know, if I had throngs of excited fans cheering me on during my work day, I think I could accomplish a heck of a lot more than I otherwise normally do.

Unfortunately, my new hero, Andy, suffered a bad shift of gears just as he was kicking in with a monster acceleration at a key moment of the climb. To make it even more heartbreaking, it appeared he was about to achieve a gap on Contador. Instead, he needed to get off his bike to put his chain back on the sprocket, while the group of key competitors raced right on by, countering his attack with one of their own. As they were pulling away, Andy fumbled with his chain and then he needed to put in an incredibly intense effort to limit his losses on the descent. It wasn’t enough, and the overall lead, signified by the honor of wearing the yellow jersey, passed from Andy to Alberto.

Some people question the sportsmanship of attacking a competitor who has been compromised by a mechanical disruption. Right or wrong, as Alberto stood on the podium, in the ceremony which bestows the yellow jersey, he was roundly jeered by the crowd.

Today’s situation didn’t do anything to dispel my disdain for the Spanish leader of Team Astana. Ultimately, I hope the better man wins.

The month of July, to me, means Tour de France. The attention this particular bike race draws is unmatched by any other, and the camera angles provided on the television coverage are astounding. It feels like you are right there to witness every aspect of this race. If you have ever spent long hours on a bike, you can sense what the professional racers are going through. It adds a lot to the experience of watching the broadcasts of the stages.

There is no denying a positive effect that watching the race inspires in us novices when we get off the couch and out on our own bikes. In our minds, it seems like our riding is pretty much the same thing as what we’ve seen of the race, just on an entirely different scale of difficulty. Those racers function at a level that is worlds beyond what the rest of us experience.

Moving from bike racers to the general population, there is a significant difference of abilities in the full spectrum of bike riders in a community. Too often, I feel like the act of riding a bike gets generalized when it comes to making decisions about design of roadways and trails. The same thing seems to happen for people developing opinions about riders and their behaviors. As I ride my bike to and from work, competing with rush-hour traffic  and struggling to navigate the variety of hassles –natural and man-made– that tend to get more annoying each day I face them, I find myself doubting that anyone beyond a select few really understands what it is like.

One obvious hazard is caused by drivers who take offense at sharing the road with cyclists. That is compounded by road shoulders that have suffered from neglect to the point of being unrideable. Many a day of commuting, I find myself wishing I could bring along a city planner on the ride and let them experience what it is like to ride with a purpose, at 16 or 18 mph, and dodge damaged asphalt, sand piles of runoff from rain showers, broken glass and debris, and encroaching overgrowth of vines and tree branches, to finally reach a busy intersection with no button to trigger the light to change.

If I was simply out enjoying a stroll on my bike, I would not likely choose these routes. Kids playing on their bikes don’t ride these routes. Bike trails to the park are a wonderful idea, but they don’t support riding at commuting speeds and rarely lead to the obvious destinations of someone riding to work. I wonder how many of the people who question why a cyclist would ride the road, instead of a trail, in communities where there are many cross streets, have ever pedaled their bike at 18 mph. It’s a no-brainer, trust me.

It may not be the Tour de France, but biking to work can be its own endurance test. I don’t have what it takes to race. Some days, I find I don’t even have what it takes to bike to work. In July, I find plenty of inspiration from seeing what the professionals endure, to help me push on against the relative hazards I face.