Riding away but staying in place

I came across a very interesting story about Graeme Obree in the Guardian today. Apparently, the former world TT champ and aero innovator realized five years ago that he's gay and chose to publicly come out of the closet this week.

In a sport with few gay athletes (or former athletes), this was interesting news.

More interesting, to me, at least, was this passage:

Obree has spoken of his resentment of cycling's doping culture, which he feels denied him a ride in the Tour de France. And although it is rare for him to pause, he does as he considers whether he also "blames" cycling for stealing those years from him; for being the means by which he sought escape from himself. "Actually, I don't," he eventually says. "I did spend years resenting cycling. I resented it because of the doping but also the fame that came with it. I was subjugated by fear of myself, because I couldn't dare be myself."

I had to stop and think about Obree trying to ride away from his sexuality. To be honest, I think more people than would care to admit it publicly use cycling (and other sports) as an escape from unhealthy habits or thoughts. Cycling, it seems to me, is uniquely suited to this purpose, as the sport enables you to get very significant physical distance from whatever troubles you, with relatively little effort.

Taking it a step further, there's a sort of disassociation you can experience when riding on a familiar road, pedaling along without thinking. You can't do that playing team sports where constant focus is the name of the game. Unlike Obree, I think I tend to use cycling to escape into myself, rather than away from myself: I've been on rides by myself, where I'll come to an intersection miles and miles from home and realize that I have no specific memories of how I got there that day. I may remember something my friend said in that spot on a previous ride, but I won't remember if any cars passed me today, or if there were any new cracks in the macadam.

It's a euphoric, meditative experience to go so deeply into yourself that you get somewhere without realizing you're going there.

But escaping one's struggle to define their sexuality is something else entirely. I've never tried to ride away from such an integral part of my personality, but I do remember riding once with John this fall, in the chaotic weeks before I moved to Pennsylvania. It was one of those rides where you start out with a big group and head far from home. Slowly, as the ride goes on, folks turn back in twos and threes, to tend to family affairs, clean the rain gutters, or whatever.

I had just told my erstwhile partner that I was moving and things were understandably rocky. I had no reason to ride home as my only plans were to spend time with her, so at every turn I goaded John into extending the ride farther and farther until we had traced the northern boundaries of our county and were driven home by a fierce desire for lunch. On the way back to town John said I'd have to call someone else to ride the next couple hours with me. It was a joke, I was at my limit, but I think John knew I wasn't really ready to go home.

I knew I had to head home; I couldn't ride away from my relationship. Not for the afternoon, not even for a couple minutes -- I carried my concerns on every mile of that ride, just as, I imagine, Obree carrying his confused identity with him while trying to ride away for all those years.

The thing is, you've got to come home sometime.