Customer Reviews

The Rider

5 star:		(8)
4 star:		(3)
3 star:		(2)
2 star:		(0)
1 star:		(0)

 

 

Cycling holds a unique niche in the world of sports. It is a delicate balance between rider and machine, between strength and tactics, between the individual and the team, between man and the elements. Anyone who has ever ridden seriously knows that almost any serious ride is an epic journey, an endless series of choices and possibilities, of suffering and pleasure.

To date, I have read nothing that captures the real essence of that experience nearly as well as Tim Krabbé's The Rider, which was originally published in 1978 in Amsterdam and which appeared in English only in 2002. Like a racing bike that has been relieved off all excess weight and trimmed of anything that could increase resistance against the wind, The Rider is prose in its most basic and stripped down form. There is hardly a wasted or misplaced word here: the writing is crisp, powerful, efficient, and compelling.

The little book weighs in at just 148 pages, just a little more than one for each of the 137 kilometers of the Tour de Mont Aigoual, by all rights a nondescript semi-pro bicycle race through the rolling mountains of Cévennes, in south central France. It may not sound like much, but Mr. Krabbé breathes life into it by describing perfectly what goes on inside a racer's head: everything from relevant glimpses at strategy -- in addition to being a strong rider and an even better writer, Mr. Krabbé may be best known as a chess champion, and his eye for tactics and detail shows -- to interesting thoughts about his own athletic career, about philosophy, fantasy, his competitors, and fascinating memories from cycling history.

The book is set in the 1970s, a time that will seem quaint to riders who have become interested in the sport only over the last few years: a period when riders made decisions about strategy rather than have it radioed into their ear pieces, when leather straps and not titanium clips held the shoes to the pedals, and when riders packed half an orange and a few figs in their pockets to fuel the ride rather than the latest scientific miracle mix.

I found it all exhilarating. As I leafed through my copy of the book earlier in order to double check a few facts before writing this review, I found myself happily re-reading some of the more compelling passages. While I was doing so, two (non-cyclist) friends stopped by and I read out loud to them Mr. Krabbé's dramatic account of Charley Gaul's stunning victory in the 1956 Giro d'Italia ... and they were unimpressed.

Which brings me to why I withheld one star from what I think is an excellent book: its appeal is far from universal. Unless you are a rider -- or at the very least, a serious fan of the sport or very close to someone who is a rider -- then I think it will be difficult to appreciate the discussions of the nervousness that accompanies a rapid descent from the mountains or the thought that goes into choosing the right gears.

But if you are a serious (or semi- or formerly-serious) rider, I can't imagine that you wouldn't be as thrilled by this book as I was.

If you do get a copy, my one piece of "strategic" advice would be to keep careful track of the names Mr. Krabbé mentions, famous and otherwise: to an English speaker's ear, many may sound quite similar. In addition to Mr. Krabbé himself we meet riders called Kléber, Koblet, Coppi, Caput, Kübler, and Clemons. And don't even get me started on the mouthful that many Dutch names represent to non-natives. Not that that sort of thing would be much of a stumbling block for anyone accustomed to the rigors of cycling.

An utterly engrossing book, "The Rider" by Tim Krabbé is a first-person account of a competitor in a French amateur cycling race. Kilometer by kilometer, the author describes, economically, but with plausible feeling, the range of emotions he goes through. It is clear that he rides for the love of cycling, but his writing reveals the mental calculations, often not very flattering, that go through the mind of a rider. A chess player, he is out on the road playing a form of chess with his opponents, considering their weaknesses, weighing their histories, examining his own position on the board, so to speak.

In this short book about a 150 km long race, Tim Krabbé also travels back in his mind, recalling legends of bike racing as well as his own dreams of sporting success in Holland. These include some wonderful absurdist episodes, including a brief "Little ABC of Road Racing" where he fantasizes about riding with Merckx and Anquetil and the other greats in a series of bizarre circumstances. And all through this one is conscious of the race going on, the change of scenery and weather and how the cyclist must constantly monitor his situation-now trying to make up for his downhill lack of skills, now attacking as the others weaken, now preparing for a sprint. One is struck by the fundamental cruelty of the sport, how one must endure pain and inflict it as well.

Anyone who has ridden fairly seriously will love this book, as will those who admire strong, clean writing. The author has brilliantly portrayed a concentrated moment. This is a world of intense focus and narrow but exhilarating boundaries.

Cycling fanatics will find great pleasure in this literary cult classic. The author clearly knows what it's like to be a competitive cyclist, and he does an exceptional job of revealing what goes on inside the head of such a person. This book is as much about the athletic psyche as it is about a race. And that's what makes it so interesting. Anyone who has competed in any kind of race, especially a distance race, will be able to relate to the often bizarre, irrational thoughts that one's mind produces. Krabbe's anecdotes about inventing words in his head to keep himself amused during training rides, or telling himself repeatedly that his lowest climbing gear is clean as a whistle, are just two examples of the intimate psychological glimpses that readers will surely enjoy. I think the point of the story is that you have to be just a little bit crazy to be a professional cyclist, but at the same time, the cyclist's neuroses are completely human and natural.

This is an `inside the head of the cyclist' account of a 1970's amateur, 150 kilometer cycle race in France. Only 148 pages, the novella is not written in chapters but broken down into kilometres travelled. This is effective in terms of conveying the unbroken nature of the race. The writing is sparse and pared down; in places it felt as hard and real as a bicycle saddle. This clean, efficient prose helps to convey the clinical sense of competition amongst the racers. It brings a strong sense of realism but perhaps at the expense of warmth and emotion. I felt I understood the characters but I didn't form any lasting connection to them. The Rider doesn't try to be something it isn't - its main aim is to give the reader an 'in-situ' 150 kilometre saddle-ride, and it achieves this. Without question, The Rider works as a specific, cult piece of work.

I'm not a cyclist by any stretch of the imagination, and am only a moderate fan of the sport in general. But Krabbé's novella, originally published in the Netherlands 25 years ago, has got to best one of the best fictional treatments of any sport. The book follows an competitive amateur rider through a half-day, 150 kilometer race over the very real Mont Aigoual in France. Krabbé is himself an avid amateur cyclist, and his ability to capture both the mental and physical aspects of the sport is uncanny. Although I've never raced a bike, I did run cross-country competitively, and many of the elements carry over-mainly the twin battle each individual faces with their brain and their body (There's one excellent moment when the rider wills his bike to get a flat so he can withdraw with honor.).

The stripped-down prose style (common to all Krabbé's work), works especially well in the context of a race where the long distances can lead to almost a trance-like state. The mind wanders all over the place, and that is captured brilliantly in the rider's musings-for example, one part describes how he tries to invent words to keep himself amused during long, boring training rides. At the same time, the race itself is very tense, and Krabbé does quite well at describing the various tactical gambits employed along the way. The main competitors emerge as distinct figures-allies and foes in both a psychological and physical sense (I especially liked the unknown in the blue Cycles Goff jersey). Interwoven with it all are tidbits of cycling history, which are intermittently interesting to the non-racer.

It's not a reach to call this a masterpiece of sports literature. The story does a remarkable job at conveying the tension and flow of a race to the outsider. At the same time, the insights into the psychology of the athlete are so acute as to be universally recognizable across cultures and sports.

I think the appeal of this book is primarily the way the author has captured the thoughts and strategies that are zooming through the mind of the racing cyclist like a sprint for the finish line, as well as how his body is serving notice of the physical tortures due to the race. I've never participated in bicycle racing myself, but as an avid rider and fan of the races, I found this little book fascinating. One other thing that I loved about this book: being written in the '70s, before the age of wireless communications, "The Rider" shows how the professional cyclists were much more involved with the strategy of the race than they are today. With no little voice in his ear to tell him that the chase group is 2'00" behind and gaining quickly, it was a completely different game. I disagree with the reviewer that recommended "It's Not About the Bike" over this one. They are two completely different books and while I'm a huge LA fan, I preferred the drama of "The Rider" to the inspirational, but sometimes plodding LA bio.

Here how goes the first sentences of this book:

"Hot and overcast. I take my gear out of the car and put my bike together. Tourists and locals are watching from sidewalk cafes. Non racers.
The Emptiness of those lives shocks me".

Did you just get this?

As you can see this guy knows what he is talking about and if this isn't exactly what all real cyclist thinks , well then maybe that book isn't for you.

I was hooked from the moment It started and the only drawback to this story is that it isn't about a longer racing stage so there could be more delightful pages to this classic.

I wont say more, read it if you are a cyclist ,it's a must.

Martin "the dark Cyclist"

You needn't be a racer, nor for that matter a cyclist, to revel in this gem of a book:

The exhiliration - "I was in the lead group for one sweep of the cranks, then ... the blind wall of wind was there again for me alone. 'What kind of nonsense is this ?' I thought, then the lights went out."

The profoundness - "Nothing is better for a firm and solid faith than being in the wrong."

And the humor - "You can tell good riders by their faces, bad riders by their faces too - but that only goes for riders you already know."

What I can't figure out is why it took over 20 years for this European classic to finally get translated into English.

A very enjoyable reading experience, with plenty of meat on the bone. Krabbe is a supremely intelligent and observant narrator, and a superb writer. The translation only fails in a couple of spots, but redeems itself in hundreds of others.

If you race, you will feel right at home with this book and its description of the Mont Aigoual bicycle race. It is as close to the actual experience one can get other than writing your own account.
When he is not actually describing the race events, Krabbe's mental wanderings and musings mimic what often goes on in most cyclists heads during the course of a long road race. I too have wished for a flat to put me out of my misery and suffering during the course of a race. A good read.