Categories: La Vie VelominatusNostalgiaTradition

Fatigue

Those things in life that are worth having are those things which are difficult to come by; perseverance is made more rewarding by the volume of messages ignored by the mind as we work towards a goal.

Fatigue comes in many forms and is normally framed in negative connotations; weariness, exhaustion – both things to avoid. For a Cyclist, it can carry a range of meanings. We may become weary of riding in the rain, as I normally am at this time of year; stuffing my shoes with yesterday’s newspaper post-ride in the hope that the dry accounting of our current events will somehow render my shoes less soggy the next day. We may become weary as we approach the big climb of the day when we know what suffering lies around the bend. To push on during an effort despite an overwhelming exhaustion that lays bare our spirit and threatens to stop our legs from turning.

But fatigue can be a beautiful thing. The fatigue that registers as a result of the post-ride status check is the gauge by which we measure satisfaction in our work. Even during the ride, we find that fatigue may not always be the sentinel of the Man with the Hammer; even as the wave of exhaustion washes over us, we learn through practice that we can continue or even lift our effort.

My favorite fatigue is the kind that sets in during a long ride; when the body has acquiesced to the mind and the signals of discomfort and pain have stopped being sent. The legs at this point take on an almost anesthetic quality to them, they don’t hurt but they don’t feel either; they have a thickness that, while they lack the punch they have when fresh, allows us to continue to push on the pedals for hours on end.

This happened to me during my most recent long ride. It was a cold, rainy day – cold enough that snow fell at the tops of the two major climbs of the day. The last big climb came at 160km and, while there is no such thing as a flat route in the Seattle area, the roads home lacked the steep grades that characterize our urban streets. The descent from Cougar Mountain froze me to my core. Starting in the snow and ending in the pouring rain, I arrived at the first of the minor climbs on the way home and pushed the button on my left shifter to slip into the little ring. Instead of making contact, my frozen hand slipped limply along the lever and did little more than jiggle the button.

This presented an unusual problem. At this point I was tired after having a piled a load of kilometers in my legs. I was also becoming just the slightest bit annoyed at how cold I was. I swerved dangerously as I experimented with bashing different parts of my hands and arms against the disappointingly stubborn shifter to try to get it to budge. Inanimate objects and I have an uneasy history, and I soon found myself giving it the customary inputs involving profanity and questioning the pureness of its mother.

Having that unpleasant business out of the way, I resigned myself to riding home in the big ring feeling fortunate that my right hand was still capable of shifting so at least I wasn’t riding a glorified single speed. And then it hit me: it was actually quite easy to carry on this way, riding in the big ring. The legs still managed to turn over and I hardly felt a thing as I pushed harder on them whenever the road pointed up. Even a few of the hills on which I struggle to stay in the big ring during my usual training rides seemed to pass under my wheels without giving undue notice.

That sensation of power combined with the heavy fatigue I carried with me distinguishes itself as one that comes only during my longest rides on those days when my form is good enough that the effort hasn’t cracked me entirely. Wholly unlike the seduction of La Volupte, it does bear a vague similarity in its rarity. Powerful fatigue; vive la Vie Velominatus.

frank

The founder of Velominati and curator of The Rules, Frank was born in the Dutch colonies of Minnesota. His boundless physical talents are carefully canceled out by his equally boundless enthusiasm for drinking. Coffee, beer, wine, if it’s in a container, he will enjoy it, a lot of it. He currently lives in Seattle. He loves riding in the rain and scheduling visits with the Man with the Hammer just to be reminded of the privilege it is to feel completely depleted. He holds down a technology job the description of which no-one really understands and his interests outside of Cycling and drinking are Cycling and drinking. As devoted aesthete, the only thing more important to him than riding a bike well is looking good doing it. Frank is co-author along with the other Keepers of the Cog of the popular book, The Rules, The Way of the Cycling Disciple and also writes a monthly column for the magazine, Cyclist. He is also currently working on the first follow-up to The Rules, tentatively entitled The Hardmen. Email him directly at rouleur@velominati.com.

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View Comments

Gianni says:

Mar 19 2012 at 7:04 pm

A Merckx brother. Nicely written, as always.

they have a thickness that, while they lack the punch they have when fresh, allows us to continue to push on the pedals for hours on end.

I've felt some of that lately. It's never the guns that make me want to stop, usually the lower back, neck, some other less awesome part of the body. But you only stop when you are done and half an hour later...that wasn't soooo bad, was it? Jesus I have more than the right amount of dumb.
scaler911 says:

Mar 19 2012 at 7:24 pm

@sgt

@scaler911
We've all ridden the Worlds?
While I can certainly speak to fatigue and the "Thousand Yard Stare", I am happily deficient in Rule #9 opportunities. Although the CA Cogal route had snow on it yesterday (you can see the road cut upper right):

I stayed down low where it was only 5* and windy. Typical SoCal winter. 30* followed by snow, followed by Merckx-knows-what. PS Nice prose, Frank.

Well, no, of course not. But if you've been at this sport long enough, you've had that stare a few times I'd bet.
Steampunk says:

Mar 19 2012 at 7:56 pm

@frank
What's the Fournel line, remembering Fignon going out for a 300km ride with just a cereal bar a few days before the World Championships? "He went out to meet the Man with the Hammer. If Fignon needs it, just about any clown, like me, can use a blow up too."
silkrider says:

Mar 19 2012 at 7:59 pm

Inspiring as always, and it gives me something to meditate on next time my brain starts nagging me to turn around and go home. I do love the moment when you are totally spent, but somehow your legs can keep turning and continue to numbly push pedals, and it feels like you can keep going for a few more hours, then when you are home and you stop, you know deep in the marrow of your bones you are done for the day. Thanks again for the great writing.
Steampunk says:

Mar 19 2012 at 8:01 pm

More from Fournel:

The blowup is a journey, and the cyclist is first and foremost a traveler.

...after a blowup, your organism is altered. There's a kind of purification in falling flat, an impression of fasting. A threshold is crossed that brings you closer to being in shape"”the next day, when the worst of the tiredness is over, you feel it. To such an extent that some racers include a blowup in their training. I remember Fignon, three days before the world championships, setting off to do three hundred kilometers alone, with a cereal bar. He went out to meet the Man with the Hammer.

If Fignon needs it, just about any clown, like me, can use a blowup too.

I haven't decided whether that will come pre- or during 200 on 100 this summer, but I suspect it really isn't up to me...
Boltzmann says:

Mar 19 2012 at 8:51 pm

Enjoyable read that: well crafted to bring memories to the surface for pleasant enjoyment from the comfort of the couch whilst watching the flames in the woodstove. For me, the aspect of the cold weather rides is that is most satisfying is that upon return to home and the gradual realization of "man, that was a bit tough today."

A favored ride here is a canyon climb of 1000m over 20k (15k from home to start of climb) - especially in the spring to chase the snow line. Left in mid-morning last May under scattered cloud; degenerated to heavy cloud, rain, sleet, then snow. Topped out at Road's End with a fair accumulation of snow on ground and cooler parts of self. Turned steed around and started return. A bit chilly (akin to your hand not working), exercising mind over wind and weather, accumulating snow and ice - bloody cold and shaking. Return home to warm shower, thawing pain, and tea. Savored both muscle and cold-induced fatigue. Felt great.

Thanks for sparking the memory.
smithers says:

Mar 19 2012 at 9:59 pm

I asked the impenetrable 'why the FUCK do we do this, Gleg?" question of my mate just yesterday morning at 6.13am halfway up a third repeat somewhere in Sydney.

This thread has gone a long way to answering it - thank you all.

I'd also like to say that I felt a deepened sense of respect and awe for my steed, toward the end of that punishing ride - a tangible sense of falling ever deeper in love with my bike. Lost to it - the whole nine yards.
Dan_R says:

Mar 19 2012 at 10:22 pm

Nice.

Yesterday we rode in 3C weather with a 35 km headwind. Today it snowed so much the roads were closed by the RCMP. And the wind just got stronger. Mother Nature is a Rule V bitch! I guess I can put the knobbies back on the cross bike...

Oh yeah, it hurts so good... (Yes, I just quoted John Cougar)
Dan_R says:

Mar 19 2012 at 10:23 pm

@Steampunk

@Tartan1749
Agreed! Ontario Cogal would make a great breaking-in ride for the new steed. As for me, I'm only pleased with the effort in relation to the last, not in some universal definition of "en forme."

Has there been a Great White Cogal yet?

East Central Alberta in the house...
Nick says:

Mar 19 2012 at 10:30 pm

I wish there were hills where I am - I know I'd curse them, shake my fist at them, hate them - But I know that when I got home and I was tingling all over I'd freaking love them. Ah well, flat, flat, flat, hot hot, hot, for now.

Great write up, really enjoyed.