Cycling is a sport of narratives, and as we move into the Grand Tours, the riders will enter gripping new tales of triumph, despair, and salbutamol into the annals of sporting history. But with the Classics behind us, some of this season鈥檚 most compelling stories have already been written. Consider for example the one of聽Evaldas Siskevicius, the brave rider who refused to abandon Paris-Roubaix.
Siskevicius鈥檚 story went viral, but in case you missed it, basically what happened was that with 30 kilometers聽to go in the race, he got overtaken by the broom wagon. Instead, despite being outside the time limit, he聽insisted on continuing anyway. With聽17 kilometers to go, he got a flat, but incredibly managed to get a wheel and keep going. Finally, he arrived at the Roubaix Velodrome, where race winner Peter Sagan had long since rinsed the conditioner out of his hair and security was closing the gate. However, in deference to Siskevicius鈥檚 perseverance, the race organization allowed him in to symbolically finish the race. A聽hero was born.
Siskevicius :
“I do not like to give up, either on the bike or in other things in life, nor did I want to give up out of respect for the organization,” he said. “Paris-Roubaix is 鈥嬧媋 monument that you must honor. I came to the v茅lodrome, the organization had already started to close the gate, but they were so sympathetic to let me in. That way I could still ride my lap and a half on the track.”
It鈥檚 easy to see why cycling fans responded so strongly to this story. For one thing, everybody loves a kid with moxie. For another, Paris-Roubaix is probably the hardest one-day race there is, and on top of that, cycling is probably the hardest sport there is, which means that even by finishing outside the time limit, Siskevicius accomplished something most of us never could. Then there鈥檚 the fact that cycling fans are starved for good news: incessant doping scandals aside, Belgian rider Michael Goolaerts died tragically of cardiac arrest during this very race. So, given all of this, you鈥檇 have to be some sort of sports sociopath not to find Siskevicius鈥檚 story moving. Right?
Alas, I think maybe I鈥檓 a sociopath.
Of course I undertand why Siskevicius鈥檚 ride was remarkable, and if it were to come up at a cocktail party, I鈥檇 no doubt join everyone else in gushing about it. Indeed, I鈥檇 probably even propose a toast to the guy, badly mangling his name in the process. But this is precisely what makes me a sociopath, because even as I raised my glass, I鈥檇 be secretly thinking about how I鈥檓 not particularly moved by Siskevicius鈥檚 refusal to give up, and if anything I鈥檓 even a little irritated by it, especially because they kept the velodrome open for him. It鈥檚 like he arrived at Target just as they were locking the doors for the night and they let him in because all he needed was some dental floss and they felt bad for him. That鈥檚 not how it鈥檚 supposed to work. He鈥檚 supposed to wait until tomorrow like the rest of us.
Sure, Dylan Thomas may have exhorted us to rage against the dying of the light, but he drank himself to death at 39, so there you go.
This is far from the first time I鈥檝e resented a rider for trying. Back in 2013, at Tirreno-Adriatico, Taylor Phinney rode by himself for 120 kilometers聽while being lashed with cold rain in a valiant attempt to finish inside the time limit so he could continue the race the next day. He didn鈥檛 make it and was cut. Cycling fans and media were unanimous in their praise for his indomitable spirit, while I bit my tongue and secretly harbored the opinion that he was kind of a schmuck for not bailing early and taking a hot bubble bath.
So what鈥檚 wrong with me?
Well I can鈥檛 be a complete psychopath. After all, I pass all the other litmus tests for ethical and responsible cycling fandom. I feel joy for the victors and empathy for the defeated, where appropriate. I detest crashes and the sight of injured riders. I celebrate the tenacity of the lanterne rouge, and admire any rider who manages to stay in the race by the skin of his or her chamois. 聽
It鈥檚 just that once you鈥檙e dropped I want nothing to do with you.
In my defense, I suspect I鈥檓 unmoved by these sorts of stories for precisely the same reason everybody else is so moved by them. Unlike fans of other sports, cycling fans (at least U.S. cycling fans) are often also participants. We ride, we race, and we follow the pros on Strava, all of which puts us more in touch with their humanity. While baseball fans may openly jeer and revile the opposing team, we recognize and appreciate the suffering each and every competitor is enduring in a bike race regardless of nationality or team affiliation, because we鈥檝e experienced it (or at least some version of it) ourselves. This is why鈥攍ighthearted cyclocross heckling and aside鈥攚e鈥檙e a pretty respectful bunch.
Therefore, like my fellow cycling fans, I too can easily imagine myself in Evaldas Siskevicius鈥檚 position, which is to say within sight of your goal as the bristles of the broom wagon tickle the back of your neck. However, unlike my fellow cycling fans who might take this as motivation to dig deeper, I see it for what it is: the universe telling you it鈥檚 time to quit. As long as you鈥檙e still in the race every effort is warranted, but once you鈥檙e outside the time limit bravery is futility and surrender is aquiescence. Sure, Dylan Thomas may have exhorted us to rage against the dying of the light, but he drank himself to death at 39, so there you go. And while sometimes they鈥檒l open the doors for you at Target, most of the time they鈥檒l shrug and walk away, even if you鈥檙e only late because you missed the subway by half a second and had to wait for the next one.
I鈥檓 all for fighting, but at a certain point there鈥檚 more dignity in letting go.
At least that鈥檚 what I tell myself.
Illustration by聽Taj Mihelich