On Death and Doubt...
You may have noticed that, though only half way through the year, the Southern California cycling community has already paid a terrible toll along the regions roadways. Among the many facets of his writing, Ted Rogers at BikingInLA, has performed the painfully necessary task of putting a face to each of these victims, attempted to show the lives behind the numbers, lives which most other media outlets would regard as little more than another in a string of statistics. These victims have all come from a large and diverse community, cyclists one and all. The tribe of mountain bikers excepted (possibly), our share of the road is a defining commonality, and even though that is where we spend the vast majority of our two-wheeled time, I want to step away from the shared, open road for a moment.
I, and many others, frequently speak of a community of cyclists. If you share that sentiment, then take another step along that path and consider the portion of that group, those who race, as a family. That family has been shaken by two deaths (Christopher Contreras and Jackie Price Dunn) within a span of a single short month.
Those of us who race, or have raced, eventually must come to terms with the likelihood that we will crash at some point during competition. No matter how skilled, or lucky we may be, or believe we are, sooner or later the odds catch up. We will find ourselves staring up from the pavement rather than perched on our saddle. But at least our eyes are seeing. In some musty nook of our minds we hide doubts, the realizations of the possibility that it can happen at any time. We mollify such thoughts by believing in our abilities to tuck and roll, or that our superior bike handling skills will help us avoid catastrophe. After all, those superior bike handling skills have saved the day on other occasions. Each race that passes without incident strengthens our confidence, adds another layer of dust to those secreted doubts. Each time we manage to keep the skinny side down, while those around us come to grief, adds another patchwork of cobwebs masking the realities.
As humans we are wired to give thought to "what might happen" and then respond based in part on our experiences. This is a self-preservation mechanism, a means of avoiding injury and incapacity. Rarely, though, do we give thought to the worst of what can happen. While the possibility of crashing has crossed my mind from time to time, I can honestly say that I have never considered the possibility that my life might come to an end during a race. Not for a moment. My memory may be faulty (and maybe someone will set me straight) but, over the twenty-five years I have been in and around the Southern California racing scene, I can't recall anything like this. Every so often there may be a report of a death on the east coast, the midwest, or over in Europe, but not this close to home. And certainly not two in one month.
It is mid June now. The racing season will continue to roll along from one weekend to the next for another three months. There will be pause for reflection of what we do, and why. Some, those more distant from the fallen, will conclude that the two died doing what they loved. It is an oft-heard sentiment which is more a gloss over the truth, than it is reality. I suspect that Christopher Contreras and Jackie Price Dunn (and those closest to them), like the rest of us who await the officials starting whistle each Sunday, never really believed it would end the way it did. Though some of the cobwebs hiding those nooks of doubt have been shaken loose, new ones will form. Out of necessity they must. If there is one constant in the sport of cycling it is that there is no place for doubt. Victory is a demanding master which does not abide the presence of such thoughts. Because of this I know that those who race this weekend, the next, or two months from now, will do so with remembrances of Chris or Jackie springing from their hearts, rather than their minds. Race in peace, race forever.
As humans we are wired to give thought to "what might happen" and then respond based in part on our experiences. This is a self-preservation mechanism, a means of avoiding injury and incapacity. Rarely, though, do we give thought to the worst of what can happen. While the possibility of crashing has crossed my mind from time to time, I can honestly say that I have never considered the possibility that my life might come to an end during a race. Not for a moment. My memory may be faulty (and maybe someone will set me straight) but, over the twenty-five years I have been in and around the Southern California racing scene, I can't recall anything like this. Every so often there may be a report of a death on the east coast, the midwest, or over in Europe, but not this close to home. And certainly not two in one month.
It is mid June now. The racing season will continue to roll along from one weekend to the next for another three months. There will be pause for reflection of what we do, and why. Some, those more distant from the fallen, will conclude that the two died doing what they loved. It is an oft-heard sentiment which is more a gloss over the truth, than it is reality. I suspect that Christopher Contreras and Jackie Price Dunn (and those closest to them), like the rest of us who await the officials starting whistle each Sunday, never really believed it would end the way it did. Though some of the cobwebs hiding those nooks of doubt have been shaken loose, new ones will form. Out of necessity they must. If there is one constant in the sport of cycling it is that there is no place for doubt. Victory is a demanding master which does not abide the presence of such thoughts. Because of this I know that those who race this weekend, the next, or two months from now, will do so with remembrances of Chris or Jackie springing from their hearts, rather than their minds. Race in peace, race forever.
Thanks, Michael.
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