The Husband and I are planning to do the Hincapie Gran Fondo in the fall, so it's only partly serendipitous that I ended up devouring George's biography over the past few days. A friend gave me a copy last week, and much like most athlete biographies, I plowed through it.
I've read tons of endurance athlete biographies over the past five years or so, but this was one of the best. The book chronicles well George's life as a youngster, learning to ride and ride fast. He explains his steps into the world of professional cycling, and how life-encompassing a commitment like that is. (I'm not quite cut out for it, even if I was that fast...) His experiences clearly display a commitment to loyalty to family and friends, and present to the reader a person of integrity, in the peleton and within the rest of the world.
The real beauty of the book is the examination of doping in professional cycling, particularly during his era. Reasons, origins, ingrained social behaviors in the peleton, and efforts to clean up racing all surface in the ongoing conversation in ... Lietenant.
I've said to The Husband in the past that I always imagined these guys finding themselves in a situation where they're at races and realize what is going on with part of the peleton, and knowing what they have to do to keep up, to keep their jobs. Some dealt with it differently. Others responded to the pressure with frustration that eventually bubbled over, out of control. Regardless, it was part of racing... no one person amped up the arms race that was the renaissance of road racing.
The interviews and commentary throughout the book keep the reading interesting, sometimes comical, and break apart the chapters to provide insight and deeper understanding. I left the book feeling like George was a better guy than I had already thought, someone who believes in the sport of cycling wholeheartedly and is passionate about helping the world come to love it as much as him. He's a strikingly inspiring figure, and an amazing leader. A fun and inspiring read, and fairly quick and easy. I would recommend it as good summer reading, especially if you are interested in cycling or endurance sports in general.
22 May, 2015
07 May, 2015
April Book Report: Rerun of The Old Man and the Sea
April was a crazy, scatterbrained month. I initially planned to read Wade Davis' historical tome about Mallory's conquest of Everest and subsequent disappearance, Into the Silence. Unfortunately, I managed to lose the book after I took it hammocking at Old Stone Fort. I found it weeks later, and realized I didn't have enough time to read it before the end of the month. The need for a quick solution (a quick read...) presented itself, and I knew just where to look.
A trip to the library turned up one of my favorite books, The Old Man and the Sea. It was interesting to revisit this short Hemingway piece all these years later. The writing is quintessentially Hemingway, but there's more, an element I didn't see upon my first reading. Hemingway manages to adopt (appropriately) a sense of magical realism integral to the Latin American literature of the period.
Still evident to me were the devices Hemingway utilizes to capture the drifting nature of the story. Newly discovered was the nearly dreamy quality which proves openly reminiscent of Buendia's venture through the wilderness to find the place where he founds his town. The reader can't be sure what is, or isn't true. The old man admits a few times to feeling like he isn't even sure what is real. He depends on his pain to remember what is happening, to keep reality tenable.
Pain and its tie to palpable reality is a common thread of the book. The old man's poverty keeps him on his feet. His lack of luck feeds his hope. His physical pain in the fight with the fish keeps him awake and coherent in dark moments. As if to keep him from slipping off into dreams, fate deals him a cruel hand after he manages to catch the biggest fish he's ever seen.
His pain keeps him alive, keeps him hungry. His cross to bear makes him who he is. Sadness for his plight would be easy, both for his part and that of the reader. The boy, his only friend, is sad for him. But the old man, he takes his pain in, processes it, and absorbs it into his being, and in so doing, the tragedy becomes something beautiful, a tale of adventure gone wrong.
A trip to the library turned up one of my favorite books, The Old Man and the Sea. It was interesting to revisit this short Hemingway piece all these years later. The writing is quintessentially Hemingway, but there's more, an element I didn't see upon my first reading. Hemingway manages to adopt (appropriately) a sense of magical realism integral to the Latin American literature of the period.
Still evident to me were the devices Hemingway utilizes to capture the drifting nature of the story. Newly discovered was the nearly dreamy quality which proves openly reminiscent of Buendia's venture through the wilderness to find the place where he founds his town. The reader can't be sure what is, or isn't true. The old man admits a few times to feeling like he isn't even sure what is real. He depends on his pain to remember what is happening, to keep reality tenable.
Pain and its tie to palpable reality is a common thread of the book. The old man's poverty keeps him on his feet. His lack of luck feeds his hope. His physical pain in the fight with the fish keeps him awake and coherent in dark moments. As if to keep him from slipping off into dreams, fate deals him a cruel hand after he manages to catch the biggest fish he's ever seen.
His pain keeps him alive, keeps him hungry. His cross to bear makes him who he is. Sadness for his plight would be easy, both for his part and that of the reader. The boy, his only friend, is sad for him. But the old man, he takes his pain in, processes it, and absorbs it into his being, and in so doing, the tragedy becomes something beautiful, a tale of adventure gone wrong.
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