The Heuvel fits and thus will remain in my possession. It’s a nice jersey, especially when considering that it cost less
than half its recommended retail price. But I think I prefer the Descente after all: the fabric is softer, the
fit is just that little more intimate, and, practically speaking, it is one of
a kind. It is also the perfect hue of
blue – rather like the tint of Everton’s football kit circa 1983-1985. So despite the Belgian theme that informs The
Heuvel, and the emergence of Dirk Baert as some sort of project patron saint,
it could well be the Descente jersey I’ll be wearing for next year’s London to
Brighton. We shall see.
Which finally
brings us to the unveiling of my prospective team’s name. This is the remit: a moniker that calls to mind
some of the professional outfits currently racing the grand tours. The reason for this is because these
sponsor-induced sobriquets often have an amusing ring to my ear: Saxo-Bank Tinkoff;
Garmin Sharp; Argos-Shimano; Orica GreenEDGE; Saur-Sojasun. Although I'm not forming an actual cycling club, whatever title I
come up with will represent my own de facto organisation from here on in, even
if after the London to Brighton is done it continues to exist as an affiliation
of one, with myself as its only member – a mere figment of my imagination.
My confederacy
might endorse competing in the odd sportive but will only occasionally meet up
for training sessions – and they’ll be optional. My syndicate will not have an official team
jersey but will persuade its riders to find their own sartorial niche. My coalition will applaud individuality. My club rejects the notion of a club. We’re not
going to be called the Pan-Southwest London Cycling Club, or the West Thames
Wheelers, or anything else that so readily suggests who we are and what it is
we do. We shall ride under the curious
appellation that is Carlos-Weltschmerz (observing the German pronunciation of
the second word). Ostensibly, this might
sound rather absurd, but I think it has a plausible ring to it. Moreover, it functions as a tribute to Dirk
Baert and his loyalty to the guys at Carlos, whilst also reflecting – via the
medium of phonology – the Latin/Germanic duality that defines Great Britain’s
position on the European cultural spectrum, for road cycling is a very European
endeavour.
Weltschmerz has a particular resonance in and of itself, this Teutonic locution
roughly translating into something approximating ‘world weariness’. Dissect its meaning still further and you’re
really onto something: it conveys more than to be simply jaded and articulates
the realisation that the physical reality of the human condition can never
conform to the idealistic demands that one’s self places upon it. This seems appropriate, given the impervious
nature of the task at hand: a vain attempt to replicate the sensation of riding
in a grand-tour – an exercise in futility if there ever was one. Despite embracing the concept of
Weltschmerz, I'm not necessarily resigning myself to its implications. One could say that I'm seeking joy in anomie…
or solace in resistance.
I can pinpoint
the precise moment I finally ‘got’ road cycling. It was during Stage 5 of the 2012 Vuelta a
Espana and, early on, Javier Chacón (racing for Team Andalucia) broke away from the
rest of the field, built up a 12 minute lead before being chased down by the
pack approximately 30 km from the finish ( in what was a 168 km race). He was rewarded with the stage’s Combativity
Award for his efforts, deservedly so. Without anyone supporting him, Monsieur Chacón
had little chance of pulling off this audacious stab for victory, but he gave
it a go anyway.
What
really left an impression was the instant he must have known it was
all over, when Javier glanced back over his shoulder and saw the Argos-Shimano
led peloton gradually bearing down on him. It was a singular spectacle that evoked in me both fear and humour, and I can’t think of any other sport
that draws out a moment like that. In
football, say, a shot on goal might hit the back of the net, veer horribly wide, or
end up in the arms of the goalkeeper. Whatever
the outcome, it’s resolved in a split-second. With cricket, the batsman plays the stroke and either scores a number of
runs, gets caught out, misses the ball entirely and – depending on the bowler’s
intention – finds his wicket smashed to pieces or lives to face another
delivery. Either way, it’s pretty
immediate.
In
cycling, though, the real drama (not the crashes or sprint finishes) tends to gently unfold, suspending one’s emotion to
the point where you don’t quite know what to do with it. It’s like watching an explosion in
slow-motion, energy dissipating – so incomprehensible that the only natural response is to laugh a
little.
I hope my cadres
buy into my vision of an existential cycling outfit, with no official
membership, no hard rules and regulations, no sense of being part of a greater
community: a sort of cycling militia, kicking against the imperial velocipedists who look down upon the rest of us.
Team Carlos-Weltschmerz Code of Conduct and Ethics
- Always behave in a gentlemanly fashion.
- Comedy cycling jerseys are bad and should be avoided – they’re not for you.
- Assimilate the consumption of a static beverage on cycle rides of reasonable length.
- Have respect and admiration for the steel bicycle, for it is a pure thing.
- Buy Dirk Baert a beer if you ever get the chance.
- Offer the Spanish team Caja Rural your support – they seem like a nice bunch.
- Riding alone is good; embrace solitude.
- Be sure to take in the view.
- Don’t take cycling too seriously.
- Take cycling very seriously indeed.
[POST-SCRIPT: After writing the
above, I unearthed a website – and I can’t recall how – peddling a level of
obstinance comparable to my own, and was left with the feeling that maybe I'm
not so wide of cycling culture as I’d assumed. Velominati (Keepers of the Cog)
lay down 91 rules, no less, many of which I’d gladly slip in alongside those
I've devised for Carlos-Weltschmerz. For
example:
Rule #16 – Respect the
Jersey: Championship and race leader jerseys must only be worn if you've won
the championship or led the race.
Rule #26 – Make your bike photogenic:
When photographing your bike, gussy her up properly for the camera. Some parameters are firm: valve stems at 6
o’clock; cranks never at 90 or 180 degrees. Others are at your discretion, though the
accepted practices include putting the chain on the big dog, and no bidons in
the cages.
Rule #80 – Always be Casually Deliberate. Waiting for others pre-ride or at the start
line pre-race, you must be tranquilo
(sic), resting on your top tube thusly. This may be extended to any time one is aboard the bike, but not riding
it, such as at stop lights.
A picture of pro-cyclists draped
over their handlebars, chewing the pre-race fat, is provided as a suitable
example to illustrate that final decree. There’s also a link to an article examining the ‘delicate art’ of
convincing as a Pro. It puts forward the
case that cyclists are amongst the hardest sportsmen there are, but also the
most vain. And if you too aspire to be Casually Deliberate, then a number of
pointers are provided:
‘A pre-ride espresso is the perfect Casually Deliberate means to
prepare for a ride: fully kitted up, loyal machine leaning patiently against a
nearby wall, cycling cap carefully dishevelled atop the head, sunnies perched
above the brim.’
This sort of thing is right up my
street. I'm not particularly hard and
I'm not particularly vain, but I am hard and vain enough to elicit pleasure
from an approach such as this.
It’s a tricky
dividing line. When I see a
gathering of cyclists wearing full pro-team kit (especially if it’s Team Sky
issue), their carbon bikes sprawled all around them, I'm inclined to think they
look preposterously arrogant (or arrogantly preposterous?). But were these guys to wear more low-key
gear, ride older bikes and maybe relax a little, then my perception could waver.
I think the
Velominati is an Australian conceit – Antipodean, at least – so maybe it’s not
so much a cycling issue as much a cultural one? Let’s face it: the British cycling enthusiast does tend to be quite a
middle-class beast, capable of emitting all the superciliousness that this can
entail – you only have to watch them picking fights with dozy motorists to see
that.
Let’s not
get carried away: Carlos-Weltschmerz
does not concern itself with the verisimilitude of things, and isn't interested
in promoting class conflict. Really,
aesthetics is what it’s all about.]
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