Asking the hard questions

In the last issue, Neil said, “I personally couldn’t imagine not watching the Tour de France.” Me neither, and I bet it’s the same with a lot of you. Cycling has been the primary occupier of my time since I was 14, and the though of ignoring the Tour has never crossed my mind.

But unlike a lot of cyclists, I’m also a big fan of stick-and-ball sports. I played them all while I was growing up and I still play pickup basketball, fantasy football and their various video game incarnations. For sheer, jaw-dropping athleticism, no cyclist can match a LaDainian Tomlinson or LeBron James.

But that stuff is a simple – if not simplistic – pleasure compared to bike racing, which provides a reflection of the complex questions that we all face every day in a way that team sports never can.

In those games, all the questions are reduced to a simple binary: we win and they lose, or they win and we lose. Athletes unite with loyal teammates to do battle against a team that is similarly united and diametrically opposed.

But in the real world, life has no win-loss column; it’s far more nuanced than that and there are far more variables. And among sports, cycling alone immerses us in those nuances and variables. It is an awkward hybrid of team and individual sports, where we ride as a team but we are judged by our results as individuals. Bike racing exposes the proverbial devil on one shoulder and the angel on the other, then blurs the distinction.

Maybe you’re a rider from a small team that has gone unnoticed in the big races – when your team is even invited to the big races – until one day, when you find yourself in the winning breakaway. You know that you’re not the strongest rider in the group, but do you still gamble for the win? If your attack fails, no one will remember your fourth or fifth place. Do you ride conservatively, hoping for second or third? Any place on the podium would be your team’s best-ever result. But which is best for your career? Which is best for the team?

Maybe you’re a domestique on a dominant team, a cog in the machine. Your team leader is in the yellow jersey and everything is going as planned, until a seemingly innocuous breakaway builds a gap that threatens your teammate’s lead. Tomorrow’s course suits you, and it would be a great day to have fresh legs and try for a stage win. So when your team begins the chase, how hard should you ride? 100%? 90%? Even if you skip a few turns on the front, the break will almost certainly be caught. And how hard should your team leader want you to work? How much of your unheralded sacrifice will be required to keep his name on top of the standings?

Maybe you’re out of contention on a hard, hot day, half an hour behind the front of the race and alone on the road. Another team’s sprinter, who’s been beating your teammate in every bunch finish, rides up next to you. He’s out of water; his team car has gone ahead to support their riders up the road. You, on the other hand, just received a fresh load of bottles before your car took off. If today’s stage takes enough out of him, your team’s sprinter will have a better shot at a stage win tomorrow. But you’ll be looking for a new contract soon, and a small gesture today could make a well-placed friend for the off-season. Do you give him a bottle?

For questions like these, sports tend to have one answer: you play to win. But in cycling, the very definition of winning is a source of tension. Do you win for the team or for yourself? Should you win today at the expense of tomorrow? Is a credible showing against superior opposition worth sacrificing a shot at a victory?

It’s this kind of uncertainty that we face every day, in public and in private, in our personal lives and in our careers. Whether in sports, art, politics, family or anywhere else, the most compelling storylines emerge when this tension is laid bare.

If sports reflect life, cycling reflects most accurately. That’s what makes our sport compelling and human.