Based upon true events. Some artistic license was used to accomplish the theme. Written permission obtained by two of the persons to use their real names. This story is dedicated to you, Darryl and Maurice (also known as "Mo" or "Cricket").
Thank you!
~
Lantern Rouge – a short story
The 20th century novelist William Saroyan once
said, “The bicycle is the noblest invention of mankind.” Though a humble
machine, the bicycle screams of being noble. It is simple in design. A frame.
Two wheels. A chain and gears. Handlebars and a saddle for the rider to guide
the machine through the air on the many paths that provide the euphoria of
freedom.
Bicycle racing is a team sport with individual glory. The
lantern rouge is a term used in bicycle races that references the last rider or
last group of riders in the field. Many times, it’s a result of working for the
team leader until all is exhausted. This is one story of many about an avid
cyclist named Aaron who began his amateur career of racing in his mid-30s. The
podium inspired him. And winning was the ultimate goal, as it was for most
riders.
One afternoon, after a long bike ride with friends on his
67th birthday, they listened to a young man in his 20s carry on
about his goals to win races. His stories laced with “dude.” Winning was like calories;
he had to have them. He ranted to the point that it soured everyone’s beer. It
was difficult to find a pause in the young man’s stories like a respite in a
fiery criterium. But finally one of Aaron’s friends interjected. Maurice, or Mo
– also known as Cricket, relayed a story of a past race.
Cricket told them about a teammate who sacrificed his own
ambitions so he could reach the podium. You see, in amateur racing, at
the lower Categories, a high majority of riders sought only the win. Even
though riders were on teams, it wasn’t like the Pros. But Cricket had a
teammate who raced with that attitude – albeit not at first.
Early on in his amateur career, Cricket’s teammate sought
individual glory, but gravity was not his friend. Even at his lowest weight he
was not able to reach the podium when climbs were his obstacle. So, he focused
on races with a typical sprint finish. Before many races, he’d hammer on about tactics
that would get him a win. But, when the final kilometer of a race quickly
approached, he had difficulty maintaining or finding the right position. When
the last 200 meters came, he could not find that sprinter’s edge. Season after
season resulted in several top-10 finishes and countless top-20s. But never the
win nor a podium finish.
Cricket continued to tell them about one sunny afternoon
on a training ride over several rollers, Cricket’s teammate was talking with a
mutual friend named Darryl. They had raced together, but Darryl quickly
upgraded to a Category-2, and they no longer raced in the same field. Cricket
overheard Darryl give his teammate some wisdom. Of course, at 25 mph it was
difficult to understand what another riding was saying in the wind. So, when
the ride was over they stopped for a pint downtown.
Darryl pointed out that they all enjoyed the thrill of
cycling, of racing, and the comradery they shared. There was something singular
about suffering together for hours on two wheels. Aaron listened. For the first
time it appeared something clicked. A new edge appeared in his eyes. Darryl had
a way of filling the gaps for others including those on the road.
The next season, Cricket and team awaited the Official to
start the race. It was a 60 mile road race with flats and rollers. After the two-mile
promenade, one of Cricket’s teammates went to the front and hammered it. He
strung out the field for the first 25 miles which caused half of the riders to
fall off the back. The field was now down to around 25 riders. His teammate was
exhausted. He settled into the peloton. His work was complete. Cricket’s other
teammates sheltered him from the wind and kept him near the front to minimize
the chance of a crash. Over rollers and through tight corners they protected
their leader. Cricket was known by his nickname because in a sprint he could
jump like a cricket.
With two miles to go, to his surprise Cricket saw his
exhausted teammate come up alongside him – he appeared recovered. He looked at Cricket
through his mirror-shaded sunglasses and said in a deep – and almost commanding
voice, “Yo Mo. Get on!”
Cricket knew exactly what to do. Immediately, he grabbed
Aaron’s wheel and used his draft. Another of his teammates joined the lead-out.
Over the roughest section of the course and into a strong headwind, his
teammates hammered it. The other teammate and Cricket on his wheel. For over a
mile his exhausted teammate held the fast pace until 200 meters to the final
corner. Then he peeled off and Cricket’s other teammate took over. As they
exited the final corner, Cricket launched into his sprint for the last 200
meters for the win! His exhausted teammate came in at the end of the pack –
nearly last place.
The young rider had listened intently. But then, to the
disappointment of those around him, he said, “I can do that without
teammates!” He laughed as he took his last sip of beer.
Cricket said, “Aaron, please tell our young friend what
‘clicked.’”
The young boastful rider’s eyes widen in surprise.
Aaron waved off the request.
Cricket insisted.
“Dude! Let’s hear it.”
Aaron quietly looked down at the ground and then up at
his friends until his eyes settled upon the young rider, “I found my place in
the peloton.” He gently nodded with satisfaction.
The young rider was quiet. A blank stare came over his
face – like that of an empty road. A road that needed to be filled with a noble
machine and a humble word. Perplexed, he asked Aaron, “You never won a race?”
Aaron shook his head— “But I did.”
“Dude, I don’t understand!” He stood abruptly.
Aaron looked at Cricket with a reminiscent smile, “When
my teammate won the race.”
