X-Post from Fiction, "The Rider" by Tim Tim Krabbé

[TexasProgresive]

The Rider by Tim Krabbé Bloomsbury 2003 originally published 1973 in Dutch.



A classic cycling novel. It is very short at 148 pages and covers a 137 km 1/2 day race of the Tour de Mont Aifoual. It is told in the 1st person and the rider has the odd name of Tim Krabbé. To research this book Mr. Krabbé cycled the route with another quasi fiction cyclist,Stani Kléber.

http://pages.rapha.cc/stories/the-tour-du-mont-aigoual
snip:

Stani Kléber, a major character in the book, is what he was – a 21-year old, 57 kilo bank teller – the proverbial climber. In the kermesses (the tourniquets or vire-vires as they call them there); the frenzied criteria with their prime sprints, he was a displaced person, but in the long and hard road races, he was really good.
We became friends and training buddies, and when the Tour du Mont Aigoual appeared on the calendar, we went to Meyrueis together for a test ride. I mention that in the book, but not what happened on that ride.

This book is a very interesting mix of fact and fiction. Throughout the race Krabbé remembers past races. Sometimes they are believable but as the rider's brain is depleted of blood and nourishment the vignettes become more fanciful. Most of the snipettes are of real incidences and are entertaining and informative. But Krabbé really shines in expressing how the riders are really in the now as the new age gurus counsel their followers to live.

3 Paragraphs from Kilometer 31 so early in the race:

A sign: :LES VIGNES. At the crossing by the bridge is a gendarme, pointing to the right. RIght turn, over the bridge. I buckle down and shift to my inside ring, other chains rattling around me. Anyone still on his outside ring when the hill starts is in for trouble. They'll have to shift on the climb: when you do that the chain clutches at thing air for a second with incredible force, in the worst of cases popping across the sprocket like a machine gun and throwing you off balance. Photograph of rider with bicycle, lying in grave;: 'Rider Kr. learning the technique of the uphill shift.'

To the right. A five-kilometer climb to the Causee Mejean. I've dropped back a little; I'm in the middle of the peloton.
Mayhem. A rider shifts, misses his gear, almost somersaults over his bars, curses. Twenty riders in front of me now, a whole road full. I pick out Lebusque, a hang glider among starlings.

The worst gaps arise during climbs. I have to work my way up to the front. Weaving back and forth, I search for openings. Panic that they're going to leave me behind. I still can't feel my pedals. I tap someone's back wheel, I swerve, someone else pushes off of me, I end up on the shoulder, no puncture.

And this is just the warm up phase of the race.


Another snip from Krabbé's article linked above about how he combined fact and fiction. This ability of a writer is what makes good fiction in my opinion. I'll let Krabbé words speak for themselves

A rider is the slave of reality; a writer is the master of his story. Much of the race in the book ‘really happened’ – but when I thought reality could use a hand, I retouched, or invented. Most riders are themselves with a different name, but some never existed, and some I reassembled from parts taken from others – notably the winner, 19-year old Reilhan; he is a combination of two talented 19-year olds I met in my Cévennes races. This summer, when I looked up my old club president Stéphan, I was in for a sad and bizarre surprise: both Reilhans had recently died of illnesses, within weeks of each other, at 48.