Skip to main content

Rouleur

Imagine for a second that I am a cyclist on the final stage of The Vuelta a Bolivia.  I have climbed to the summit of 4,496 metres above sea level, through the high plains of Altiplano, Lake Titicaca and finally La Paz.  It is the highest and arguably the most challenging tour on the cycling calendar.  When I first arrived, the locals had told me in hand expressions and broken English that the summit climb would make my lungs scream.  This morning, I saw Padre Perez anoint every ambulance with holy water.  Such is its intensity, I’m told he does it every morning during the tour.  I know the task ahead, but knowing this did little to settle my nerves.  The apprehension mostly leaves me when I’m on the road.  All I can do now is focus on the game plan and the wheel of the man in front.  This is the final stage.  For all the pain a rider has to push through on a climb at altitude, we always hope the final ascent is the sweetest - that is, the ascent to a podium finish.

I was at the centre of the peloton during a slight descent.  We were as snug as a jigsaw as we slipped through the humidity.  We were very tightly packed; so much so that it felt like a symphony, or the opening and closing of a hand, but I’ve learnt not be distracted by the ostensible togetherness of a leading group. Everyone is hushed, everyone is thinking.  Then, suddenly, a slip.  Everyone’s worst fear is realised: a water bottle is dropped near the front.  I imagine a scattering, like a swathe of starlings who have just been spooked, suddenly out of rhythm with one another.  I glimpse it as it falls near the front.  The atmosphere within the pack tenses; it is a mass brace of professionals in the acceptance of an impending crash.

Imagine I am this rider watching as the bottle falls in front of me.  And you are all of the following. 

You are the way the bottle bounces,
and the way the other riders in front of me react to it in my favour,
and the split second gap that allows me to ride around the crush and tangle,
and the patch after patch after patch of ungrazed skin,
and the right, instinctive choice,
and the podium place,
and the lack of fear for next year. 
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

An Expert Analysis of Michael Fassbender's Running Style From the Film 'Shame'

Tom Wiggins: What are your first impressions of Michael Fassbender/Brandon's running style? Paul Whittaker: He's running nice, smooth and relaxed. He seems like he has a good amount of fitness and he is running well within himself in terms of pace.   TW: What improvements could he make to his running style? PW: The main improvement I'd make is his foot plant.  He lands heel first and this causes a 'breaking' effect when travelling forwards.  If he landed on his mid-foot/forefoot, this would be a much better for impact stress and propulsion going forward into the next running stride. TW: Regarding his speed, how many minutes per mile is he running? PW : I would say he is running approx 7-7.30 minutes per mile. TW:   What do you make of his stride lengths?  Is he overstriding/understriding? PW:  The actor is definitely overstriding in this clip.  It would help if his feet landed underneath and below his centre of gravit...
Post a Comment
Read more

Norman MacCaig: Poetry Hero

I cannot say exactly when I first discovered Norman MacCaig.  It may have been at the beginning of this year, but could well have been at the end of last.  I found him through a tweet.  Six months or more is a long time on Twitter, and when tweets get to a certain age, they're as stubbornly elusive as a missing person who wants to stay missed. But I know the tweet was left by poet  Jo Bell , the director of National Poetry Day, and whose wonderful blog can be found  here .  The link she left took me to an enthralling 25-minute interview with MacCaig.  I liked the man instantly.  I replied to Jo by saying what how charming MacCaig was.  He had a warm sparkle in his eye that only Scots seem to have access to.  He epitomised charismatic.  Unfortunately, embedding has been disabled on the video, but it can be found  here .  Fast forward to yesterday.  I was sat in Stanman's Kitche...
3 comments
Read more

A Scene From "Once Upon a Time in Anatolia' by Nuri Bilge Ceylan

Roughly halfway through Nuri Bilge Ceylan's 'Once Upon a Time in Anatolia' , after a long night in search of a body through remote Turkish hillsides, a weary parade of officials and the accused stop for sustenance.  Tiredness and confusion has muddled the mind of the suspect over the whereabouts of the body.  The search party, consisting of a police commissioner, doctor, prosecutor and driver, are all past the point of tiredness.  They've all written the night off and have resigned themselves to the fact that they're unlikely to return to town with either a confession or the missing body.  In the early hours of the morning, the  three-car parade stop for a break in a village and gather in the darkness of the local mayor's home.  All the men are physically and emotionally spent.  Even in the darkness, the stresses and strains of their working and personal lives are discernable through the shadows thrown on each of their faces.  Cracks ar...
Post a Comment
Read more