Le Maillot
As the sun sets on my time in the espoirs it rises to the next chapter in my journey as a rider. I am proud of how I closed out a turbulent 2023 term with promising, attacking racing.
It’s October. I’m getting numerous messages from zealous cycling fans which can only mean one thing. Le fin de la saison approche. The collectors are asking the same questions; ‘Can I have a jersey?’ or ‘Do you have a signed race number that I can add to my collection?’ I understand where these passionate fans of the sport come from, after all, the season is done. Why would I need to hold onto my jerseys and race numbers? Yet I only have one response to them… ‘Sorry.’
Le Maillot
I see the jersey as an iconic staple piece to add to an artistic and ever-growing collection which spans the years of cycling. From the cotton jerseys of the 70s to the finely tuned aerodynamic phenomena of the modern-day lycra suit. They mark the progress the sport has made using science to improve human and technological advancements. Whilst I wasn’t following cycling when the woollen jersey was in use, I do struggle to let go of the jerseys that have been worn through the heights of summer and the chills of winter.
I sweat on the hottest days, or as I grit my teeth digging deep into the very last interval. My jersey is stained with blood through cut fingers, blistered hands, and the occasional crash. My jersey carries dirt from the faraway lands of Africa, to the ash covered mountains of Mount Etna. From the clay glazed cobbles of Northern France to the hours of use under the summer sun. All the hours of hard work, determination and progress are evident in the discoloured, slightly torn and stained jersey. A worn jersey indicated the commitment of the wearer. It is, by season’s end, an extension of myself. It is a literal marker of the blood, sweat and tears that see out each and every single season. Sure some jerseys become torn. Unrecognisable even. However, each carries their own story. They have memories sewn into their fibres. These are the reasons I hold onto my jerseys.
Le Dossard
The race number is much the same. Numbers coated with mud–and should probably be washed but aren’t. Tear holes and crumples from pinning le dossard too tightly to le maillot day after day on week long stage races. All in the search of the least flappy, most energy efficient pinning technique. As Chris Froome says in the video below. We spent hours of our time artistically and meticulously attaching these fragile pieces of paper to the jersey.
It’s a period of time when I can zone out and focus on the task at hand. Noticing and becoming precise with how I pin it to the jersey. I love it, that’s why I hold onto them. That’s why I write about them. Some numbers do mean more than others. More than the jersey, they are marked with a memory of a powerful or disastrous race. When pinning a number, the occasional flashback pops into the brain. Be it positive or negative, it can give you a kick–especially with music. Ready to attack the day. It is certainly a ritual, pinning a number. We cyclists are masters at the safety pin. I’d argue some riders have their favourite pins that they aim to keep hold of–as ludicrous as it sounds.
the game of life
I found a new level in myself that was previously undiscovered. That’s the brilliance of evolution. The parts that were unknown become known through the most testing of times. Forcing change. Survival of the fittest. You’d be forgiven for believing, in the early summer, that the latter half would be like a torn jersey. A throwaway. Like I said, I forgive you. I let you off thinking that I was done with this season. The size of the injury was hefty, so I’m more than pleased with how I’ve dealt with the challenges this year has thrown up. I think I found a close resemblance of my former self. That too has come about through a tremendous support team. Mum, Dad, Charlie, Jon, David, everyone at Bingoal and the all people I call friends. People who inspire me every day.
Whilst I didn’t race for three months, I did gain a lot of valuable lessons in the progressing my character in the game we call life. I rekindled my love of all activity in everyday life which has enhanced my relationship with cycling as a by-product. The love of being outdoors for as much of the day as physically possible. Flicking from one sport to the next. Freeing up my brain. A happy life leads to powerful performance. It takes me back to my youth.
It is crucial for me, as a human, to keep my hours busy once I’ve finish my day’s training on the bike. To achieve that, I doubled down on my routines. How consistent could I be? It took me four years to realise the routine of school life is the routine that I want to live by. Yes, you heard that right, I want to go to bed by ten o’clock and wake up at seven in the morning. It provides a sense of predictability that means I can maximise my time with my friends and family. Whilst also incorporating other passions into my programme that continue to develop my relationship with sport.
I wrote in my Flandrien Hotel post that I had really taken a liking to consistent writing. Documenting my journey across Europe, and indeed further afield. It brings me great joy to file my memories into articles, just like I would imagine my brain as a filing cabinet. Categorised into short and punchy tales that I can recall and retell on the many rides I have coming up. My Dad’s love of cooking deliciously healthy food has inspired me to improve my knowledge of le cuisine. It’s cool knowing what spices go with each other on different kinds of dishes.
the game of bike
“Patience.” A valuable lesson in life and, as I’ve come to realise, racing. Like Lightning McQueen’s ignorance of the philosophy of “turning right to go left.” It is a skill that takes many years to develop due to it’s backwards nature.
I knew it would take a long time, possibly the entire winter–and some–to find my legs again. Patience is something I was forced to show. A selection pressure I just had to come to terms with. I could not just switch on all the metabolic functions that had been switched off during my period of inactivity. It takes months to develop them, a full winter of base training. I recognised that wholly trusting the plan was the way forward. Being precise and consistent in my training process so I could maximise my speed of recovery.
Down to that precision, I found my way back to racing earlier than the doctors–who were pretty great with me–predicted. I then returned to Belgium after three months away from the highest level this sport can offer. I scared some people with my fitness–or lack of. I surprised myself with how little I found I had lost. The path was clear, though not without unforseen setbacks, as Racing Rhythm outlined. In the end of it, I rounded out the 2023 term with some performances I could be proud of. Hints of what I know I am capable of. It’s certainly strange to finish the season, after feeling like I’ve barely started. I found that rhythm. A rhythm that has never extended beyond the racing, but now has traversed into my game of life.
l’avenir
As the sun sets on my time in the espoirs it rises to the next chapter in my journey as a rider. I’m immensely excited about what that will look like with Bingoal wb. I am proud of how I closed out a turbulent 2023 term with a promising, attacking racing at Paris Tours Espoirs, a race that marked the final time I would compete as an under-twenty-three rider. I’m thrilled to have closed it racing side-by-side with the riders I’ve raced for many years. With whom, the journey will continue as I join most of them in the professional peloton next year. See you all on the road. On y va!
