Riding can be a contemplative time. Whether riding in a group, racing for 45 minutes or 4-5 hours, or, most certainly, riding solo, thoughts meander in and out with the least significant of muse. Different intensity levels procure different levels of cognition. The book by Tim Krabbe called The Rider exemplifies the wandering mind during a 200 page road race. The rider ponders all level of emotion, with self doubt and self confidence taking the forefront. Also prevalent is indirect and largely unrelated historical assessment. Generally, Krabbe’s thoughts are about cycling and racing, specifically professional races, but rarely do the meandering thoughts relate to Krabbe himself. Except, of course, as a vehicle to drive the mind away from the physical exertion taking place outside the mind. In the last couple dozen kilometers of his race he ponders: “In 1919 Brussels-Amiens was won by a rider who rode the last forty kilometers with a flat front tire. Talk about suffering! He arrived at 11:30 at night, with a 90-minute lead on the only two other riders to finish the race.” Some, like Graeme Fife in his A Beautiful Machine store some hostility in their thoughts on certain rides: “The effort of pushing my bike, my shoes slipping on the grass, the foul mood and sense of doom eroded all charity from me. By the time I got to the top, my mood had turned homicidal.”
During crits I usually inadvertently find a muse in the logo writing on other riders’ jerseys. The dental office sponsor triggers my tongue to rub over my front teeth to make sure they’re smooth (they’re not because I am mouth breathing), which triggers thoughts of reading Highlights for Kids in the dentist waiting room, which leads to counting the years since last I visited a dentist, and lastly the dull discomfort of freshly picked, polished and fluoride-treated teeth. At this point there are three laps to go and I can soon be done.
Recently, while riding with two other people (this is not a criticism of the conversation during the ride, mind you) I thought about a book I read in high school. The first reaction was: why do I so easily remember this book I read in 1997 when after that, during college, the kind one pays for, I read numerous other books much more recently? The thought fleeting, I quickly came back to the book, which was Walter Miller’s A Canticle for Leibowitz. It is a science fiction classic. Written in the late 1950’s, the book won several awards including the Hugo Award Best Science Fiction novel in 1961. It landed on the required reading list for 11th grade English and I read. As with most required reading, it’s a different kind of reading; usually less pleasurable and constantly over thought. The futuristic, post nuclear fallout story has many characters and many events. What popped into my head (pun intended, wait for it) was the character Rachel, the bicephalous mutant half of Mrs. Grales. Her importance to the story is less thought provoking than the fact that she had two heads. Two headed characters are probably not terribly rare in sci-fi books, though it was a first for me in required reading (anthropomorphic polytheistic Greek mythology aside). I tried to imagine what Rachel would look like and what it would be like to have another head. Would Rachel insist that Mrs. Grales ride faster if the situation of a post apocalyptic bike race should ensue? Aerodynamics notwithstanding, it seems the benefit of another little voice in your (other) head could be quite beneficial.
The next day I went on another ride, this time with three other people. About 16 miles in, one riding partner mentioned a pimple that had become over grown, that it might develop its own personality, if not tended to. Someone then immediately said “Must be Tyler Hamilton.” Short silence. Recognition. We all remembered one of Hamilton’s reasons for his whacky blood measurements was that he might have a chimera twin, the result of fused embryos and thus unmatching red blood cells. Did Hamilton have a Rachel, too? What would he have named it? Tugboat, Jr.? How is it that two rides in a row have distinct thoughts about conjoined twins, in one form or another?
Shortly after the giggling subsided about the former champion Hamilton, we made a turn past a small farm house that had a couple donkeys and a sheep. This is not an uncommon sight in this region but the countenance of the sheep was quite unique. It had two large horns jetting outward, the right one almost flopping like a bunny ear. Additionally, it had two other horns curling down around its face like side burns. To say the least it looked like Tim Curry’s devil character in The Legend (during Tom Cruise’s dreamy stage rather than creepy scientology stage). There it was, empirical evidence of conjoined/chimera twins right in front of us. Clearly that sheep had somehow fused embryos with a large hare at some point in its ancestry and/or it was in the infant stages of bicephaly. Its other head is slowing growing out, at some point probably resembling Samuel L. Jackson a la Pulp Fiction.
This is what I think about when I’m riding.
Naturally, riding is more than a physical activity. The duration allows the most pressing of issues to come to light, as we’ve just found. In Part 2, we’ll examine relativity, the influence of comprehensive bike computers and lengthy movie quotes.
Matt Karre is a die hard advocate for riding bicycles for FUN. He does not care to ever again hear the statement: Just gettin ready for cross! He is without doubt a lifer in the bicycle retail industry and has been in the employ of two of the most important bike shops in the country - though not at the same time. When not selling bicycles he is riding in and around Portland on great roads with wonderful people all the while quoting Ghostbusters and talking about kitties.
