As cyclists, we talk an awful lot about our bikes, and every
component on the bike, as if these are the key to the cycling experience. I am as guilty of this as anyone, and would
be a wealthy man if I could have charged a client my normal hourly rate for the
hours I have spent pouring over magazines and websites devoted to bike
gear. We also talk about our bodies,
nutrition, and weight, and spend further hours planning routes to maximize or
minimize climbing or scenery. Again, I
am as guilty, and likely more guilty than most, of obsessing over routes.
But once the buying and wrenching is done, once the gym work
has been completed, and after the route is planned and loaded in the GPS, you
hit the road. And the irony is, the road
itself is last thing you think about and the thing you think the least about,
but it IS where the rubber meets the road and where the experience of cycling
takes place. And it is the experience of
riding the road that motivates us to do all that other stuff and what draws us
back day after day, week after week. So I
want to spend a few paragraphs talking about the road itself and how the road
adds meaning to the experience of riding.
So, to start with the mundane, the experience of the road
cannot be divorced from the road surface itself. Whether paved or unpaved, the road surface
itself makes a difference. Most
pavement, and unpavement too for that matter, is pretty neutral and hardly
merits notice. Some surfaces, like chip
seal, slow you down and jar you with vibrations. Worse are badly pot-holed streets, or loose
gravel roads that require great concentration to ride (and stay upright) and
are mentally tiring and physically jarring.
In contrast, smooth roads make you feel like a champion, gliding
along. One of my favorite stretches of
pavement is Park Central in the Catoctins, which goes by Camp David. The pavement is meticulously maintained and
always glassy-smooth. Even going up the
steep pitches, the pavement is a joy to ride.
But the road surface is, naturally, a superficial and
two-dimensional quality. The first layer
of depth is simply that the world itself is in three-dimensions and you
experience the road not just as a surface, but as a tunnel or bubble defined by
your range of sight. The road is not 100
miles long, it is maybe ¼ mile long and wide, or less with curves and hills,
reduced in scope by your line of sight. When
the road is broken into these smaller chunks, I find myself forgetting where I
am because one ¼ mile chunk looks very much like a ¼ chunk on other roads. I have lost count of the number of times I
have climbed a moderately steep hill that bends to the left in front of a white
house with a flowering tree next to the road.
That is just one example; there are so many chunks of road that look,
feel, and ride like other chunks of road it can be kind of déjà vu experience
as I momentarily forget if I am riding near, say Laytonsville or Culpepper. And the beauty of it is that you get lost in
those chunks, losing connection with time and place as you pedal along, lost in
the immediate experience of riding that particular stretch of road.
Of course at other times your field of vision opens up
dramatically to reveal mountains and valleys, rivers and streams, farms and
forests, and all manner of scenery. Those
experiences, as magnificent as they are, pull you away from the road and
outside of yourself providing a wonderful contrast to the inner focus of so
much cycling. Indeed, that inner pull is
so strong that I often have to force myself to look up and soak in the views,
and even stop to take it all in.
The three-dimensional aspect of the road is also seen in the
difference between riding the same road in different directions. Obviously if the road goes up a mountain, the
experience of going up v. down is dramatically different. But even on more ordinary terrain a road can
have a very different feel depending on the direction of travel. It is not just the terrain and views, but the
relationship between one stretch of road and the other connecting roads on a
given route that combine to make the same road feel like two completely separate
roads depending on the direction of travel.
And there is a fourth dimension to cycling because the road
becomes a kind of magnetic tape for cycling memories. We so often ride on the same roads, even
following the same routes on a regular basis, that the road evokes memories of
past rides on the same road. This is
where Jeff flatted, I cramped badly right here, last time we rode this way Lane
was flying. Mostly the memories are
funny, even silly; little things that make you smile in the recollection of
past rides. Often though the memories
take on additional depth. As you ride
the same roads with the same friends over the years, you remember past
conversations and how your lives have changed over time. Three years ago you discussed a teenager’s problems
and now you discuss how that child is doing in college. Last year’s conversation about a bad boss is
this year’s conversation about an exciting new job, or retirement. Same road, same bike, same friend, but a very
different ride. And of course friends
move, or stop cycling so much, but there is always some stretch of road where
you ride with their memory for company.
That temporal aspect of the road gives emotional depth to the visual and
physical experience of each stretch of road.
