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The Rider
Brilliantly conceived and written at a breakneck pace, it is a loving, imaginative, and, above all, passionate tribute to the art of bicycle road racing.
Not a dry history of the sport, The Rider is beloved as a bicycle odyssey, a literary masterpiece that describes in painstaking detail one 150-kilometer race in a mere 150 pages. We are, every inch of the way, inside amateur biker Tim Krabbé's head as his mind churns at top speed along with his furious peddling. Privy to his every thought-on the glory and vagaries of the sport itself, the weather, the characters and lineage of his rival cyclists, almost hallucinogenic anecdotes about great riders of the past-the book progresses kilometer by kilometer, thought by thought, and the reader is left breathless and exhilarated.
A thrillingly realistic look at what it is like to compete in a road race, The Rider is the ultimate book for bike lovers as well as the arm-chair sports enthusiast. <
Not a dry history of the sport, The Rider is beloved as a bicycle odyssey, a literary masterpiece that describes in painstaking detail one 150-kilometer race in a mere 150 pages. We are, every inch of the way, inside amateur biker Tim Krabbé's head as his mind churns at top speed along with his furious peddling. Privy to his every thought-on the glory and vagaries of the sport itself, the weather, the characters and lineage of his rival cyclists, almost hallucinogenic anecdotes about great riders of the past-the book progresses kilometer by kilometer, thought by thought, and the reader is left breathless and exhilarated.
A thrillingly realistic look at what it is like to compete in a road race, The Rider is the ultimate book for bike lovers as well as the arm-chair sports enthusiast. <
152 pages, ebook
First published June 1, 1978
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 579 reviews
May 29, 2022
Tim Krabbé performs a thought experiment about what goes on in the mind of a bike racer during a stage of a race. This was fascinating. I went into this book not knowing whether this was a short memoir or fiction. I came away from it thinking it was a memoir, then I did a little googling about the author and found out he was never a professional cyclist.
He absolutely nails the suffering, anguish, the boredom, the anxiety, the adrenaline, the flights of fancy, the thrill, the obsessive competitive nature of a professional athlete, the strategies that go on in the heads of a cyclist, the exhaustion both mental and physical from the very beginning of a race through the end. Almost unbelievable that this man never raced. This could have been written today with Krabbé's observations of some of the racers using drugs, the raw talent of some racers, the various assessments of cycling riders' style and talents: some climbers some sprinters, some all around. The only description that betrays the age of the book was the location of the shifters on the bike. Old school 10-speed bike gear shifters were located on the down tube. Today they are mounted on the handlebars and have been for decades. The other thing that betrayed this as a flight of fancy was that Krabbé (who is the main character in this story) begins his bike racing career at the age of 30 and is immediately a contender to win races. These days cyclists are retiring at 30. There are huge physiological differences between a 20-year-old and a 30-year-old in terms of ability to recover after long races, strength and speed. Talent and experience can beat youth, but not if you start at 30 yrs old.
All in all, this was a fast, fun read. I particularly enjoyed his mental flights of fancy to distract himself from the mental and physical pain of racing. Another book written in the 70s that is proving timeless and that I would recommend (rare for me). A really great book!!
4.5 Stars
Listened to Audible. Mark Meadows did an excellent job.
He absolutely nails the suffering, anguish, the boredom, the anxiety, the adrenaline, the flights of fancy, the thrill, the obsessive competitive nature of a professional athlete, the strategies that go on in the heads of a cyclist, the exhaustion both mental and physical from the very beginning of a race through the end. Almost unbelievable that this man never raced. This could have been written today with Krabbé's observations of some of the racers using drugs, the raw talent of some racers, the various assessments of cycling riders' style and talents: some climbers some sprinters, some all around. The only description that betrays the age of the book was the location of the shifters on the bike. Old school 10-speed bike gear shifters were located on the down tube. Today they are mounted on the handlebars and have been for decades. The other thing that betrayed this as a flight of fancy was that Krabbé (who is the main character in this story) begins his bike racing career at the age of 30 and is immediately a contender to win races. These days cyclists are retiring at 30. There are huge physiological differences between a 20-year-old and a 30-year-old in terms of ability to recover after long races, strength and speed. Talent and experience can beat youth, but not if you start at 30 yrs old.
All in all, this was a fast, fun read. I particularly enjoyed his mental flights of fancy to distract himself from the mental and physical pain of racing. Another book written in the 70s that is proving timeless and that I would recommend (rare for me). A really great book!!
4.5 Stars
Listened to Audible. Mark Meadows did an excellent job.
December 14, 2012
Because this book has already been five-star reviewed to death (and rightly so), here's one of my favorite passages, transcribed.
"In interviews with riders that I've read and in conversations that I've had with them, the same thing always comes up: the best part was the suffering. In Amsterdam I once trained with a Canadian rider who was living in Holland. A notorious creampuff: in the sterile art of track racing he was Canadian champion in at least six disciplines, but when it came to toughing it out on the road he didn't have the character.
The sky turned black, the water in the ditch rippled, a heavy storm broke loose. The Canadian sat up straight, raised his arms to heaven and shouted: 'Rain! Soak me! Ooh, rain, soak me, make me wet!'
How can that be: suffering is suffering, isn't it?
In 1910, Milan—San Remo was won by a rider who spent half an hour in a mountain hut, hiding from a snowstorm. Man, did he suffer!
In 1919, Brussels—Amiens was won by a rider who rode the last forty kilometers with a flat front tire. Talk about suffering! He arrived at 11.30 at night, with a ninety-minute lead on the only other two riders who finished the race. The day had been like night, trees had whipped back and forth, farmers were blown back into their barns, there were hailstones, bomb craters from the war, crossroads where the gendarmes had run away, and riders had to climb onto one another's shoulders to wipe clean the muddied road signs.
Oh, to have been a rider then. Because after the finish all the suffering turns into memories of pleasure, and the greater the suffering, the greater the pleasure. That is Nature's payback to riders for the homage they pay her by suffering. Velvet pillows, safari parks, sunglasses: people have become woolly mice. They still have bodies that can walk for five days and four nights through a desert of snow, without food, but they accept praise for having taken a one-hour bicycle ride. 'Good for you.' Instead of expressing their gratitude for the rain by getting wet, people walk around with umbrellas. Nature is an old lay with few suitors these days, and those who wish to make use of her charms she rewards passionately.
That's why there are riders.
Suffering you need; literature is baloney." (p. 112-114)
"In interviews with riders that I've read and in conversations that I've had with them, the same thing always comes up: the best part was the suffering. In Amsterdam I once trained with a Canadian rider who was living in Holland. A notorious creampuff: in the sterile art of track racing he was Canadian champion in at least six disciplines, but when it came to toughing it out on the road he didn't have the character.
The sky turned black, the water in the ditch rippled, a heavy storm broke loose. The Canadian sat up straight, raised his arms to heaven and shouted: 'Rain! Soak me! Ooh, rain, soak me, make me wet!'
How can that be: suffering is suffering, isn't it?
In 1910, Milan—San Remo was won by a rider who spent half an hour in a mountain hut, hiding from a snowstorm. Man, did he suffer!
In 1919, Brussels—Amiens was won by a rider who rode the last forty kilometers with a flat front tire. Talk about suffering! He arrived at 11.30 at night, with a ninety-minute lead on the only other two riders who finished the race. The day had been like night, trees had whipped back and forth, farmers were blown back into their barns, there were hailstones, bomb craters from the war, crossroads where the gendarmes had run away, and riders had to climb onto one another's shoulders to wipe clean the muddied road signs.
Oh, to have been a rider then. Because after the finish all the suffering turns into memories of pleasure, and the greater the suffering, the greater the pleasure. That is Nature's payback to riders for the homage they pay her by suffering. Velvet pillows, safari parks, sunglasses: people have become woolly mice. They still have bodies that can walk for five days and four nights through a desert of snow, without food, but they accept praise for having taken a one-hour bicycle ride. 'Good for you.' Instead of expressing their gratitude for the rain by getting wet, people walk around with umbrellas. Nature is an old lay with few suitors these days, and those who wish to make use of her charms she rewards passionately.
That's why there are riders.
Suffering you need; literature is baloney." (p. 112-114)
July 27, 2015
Not recommended for: those who struggle to understand other worldviews; those who have no interest in (and no interest in understanding) sport; those who are overly defensive; those who hate monologues.
Non-racers. The emptiness of those lives shocks me.
Well now, I've a little problem here. Having struggled out a great big review of this light little novella (150 pages odd) on my blog, which already felt like I was leaving things out and holding things back, I'm not really sure how to say anything concise about it here.
So I'm going to put it in quick, simple points.
- The Rider is a short novel giving a long monologue of an amateur cyclist competing in a race in the south of France in 1977 (the book was written the following year), essentially a fictionalised account of the author's own experiences
- the novel is a sports novel about this particular race, and the thought processes of the participants
- at the same time, the narrator's mind wanders, as he explains the nature of road racing and his own nature - this involves many anecdotes from his own life and from cycling history. Along the way this involves a fair degree of philosophical and psychological rumination
- if you want, you can take this simply as a gripping account of a race - it's written to be readable both by fans of the sport and by those who know little but are willing to try to understand
- it's been called a fun sport novel, a literary masterpiece that will be read for another hundred years, and the ultimate encapsulation not only of the soul of road-racing but of the nature of sport itself. The first two are certainly true, and I only don't endorse the third because not being a sportsman myself I can only surmise
- it may alternatively be read as a study of obsession, an analysis of religion, or simply an examination of the human soul and possibly of the postmodern condition. Only it's also enjoyable to read
- it is, however, written in under 150 pages, with short paragraphs, and generally short, simple, almost brusque sentences. The poetry is in the thoughts, not in the expression, although as you get into the novel the brutal rhythm of the writing does take on a compelling majesty of its own
- it's apparently a well-known novel in the original Dutch, and despite not being translated until 2002 is a cult novel among cyclists. It should, however, be more widely read
- you should read it
In case you missed it above, my full review is up on my blog (and this is one occasion where the full review actually does convey a little more than this concise one...)
Non-racers. The emptiness of those lives shocks me.
Well now, I've a little problem here. Having struggled out a great big review of this light little novella (150 pages odd) on my blog, which already felt like I was leaving things out and holding things back, I'm not really sure how to say anything concise about it here.
So I'm going to put it in quick, simple points.
- The Rider is a short novel giving a long monologue of an amateur cyclist competing in a race in the south of France in 1977 (the book was written the following year), essentially a fictionalised account of the author's own experiences
- the novel is a sports novel about this particular race, and the thought processes of the participants
- at the same time, the narrator's mind wanders, as he explains the nature of road racing and his own nature - this involves many anecdotes from his own life and from cycling history. Along the way this involves a fair degree of philosophical and psychological rumination
- if you want, you can take this simply as a gripping account of a race - it's written to be readable both by fans of the sport and by those who know little but are willing to try to understand
- it's been called a fun sport novel, a literary masterpiece that will be read for another hundred years, and the ultimate encapsulation not only of the soul of road-racing but of the nature of sport itself. The first two are certainly true, and I only don't endorse the third because not being a sportsman myself I can only surmise
- it may alternatively be read as a study of obsession, an analysis of religion, or simply an examination of the human soul and possibly of the postmodern condition. Only it's also enjoyable to read
- it is, however, written in under 150 pages, with short paragraphs, and generally short, simple, almost brusque sentences. The poetry is in the thoughts, not in the expression, although as you get into the novel the brutal rhythm of the writing does take on a compelling majesty of its own
- it's apparently a well-known novel in the original Dutch, and despite not being translated until 2002 is a cult novel among cyclists. It should, however, be more widely read
- you should read it
In case you missed it above, my full review is up on my blog (and this is one occasion where the full review actually does convey a little more than this concise one...)
July 1, 2017
This short, dense, gorgeously written book is the Dutch Krabbé's first-person account of a 150-kilometer bicycle race from 1977 (also the year of the book's publication). The writer, who is also an accomplished chess player, started racing professionally when he turned 30. In time he became a contender in many of the shorter day-races in northern Europe.
It succeeds on so many levels: the rider's accomplishment, the true descriptions of racing, historical depth (many seamlessly-woven accounts of great moments in cycling), as a kind of autobiography, and most of all as a long translation of the racer's mind. Time stops, starts, reverses. The brain conjures impossible visions and dreams. The rider's will breaks and resuscitates itself numerous times. It's a philosophical meditation on pain: "Suffering you need. Literature is baloney."
Baloney he says, yet Krabbé elevates other cycling writing as well. His book brings a new light, for instance, to Bill and Carol McGann's two-volume history of the Tour de France, illuminating factual details and amplifying what makes competitive cycling such a special pursuit.
I won't tell you who wins the race. Krabbé wins the writing.
*
WHY I READ THIS BOOK: During this year's Tour de France, I got inspired to read some books on the subject, and found this one at the Seattle Public Library.
It succeeds on so many levels: the rider's accomplishment, the true descriptions of racing, historical depth (many seamlessly-woven accounts of great moments in cycling), as a kind of autobiography, and most of all as a long translation of the racer's mind. Time stops, starts, reverses. The brain conjures impossible visions and dreams. The rider's will breaks and resuscitates itself numerous times. It's a philosophical meditation on pain: "Suffering you need. Literature is baloney."
Baloney he says, yet Krabbé elevates other cycling writing as well. His book brings a new light, for instance, to Bill and Carol McGann's two-volume history of the Tour de France, illuminating factual details and amplifying what makes competitive cycling such a special pursuit.
I won't tell you who wins the race. Krabbé wins the writing.
*
WHY I READ THIS BOOK: During this year's Tour de France, I got inspired to read some books on the subject, and found this one at the Seattle Public Library.
February 17, 2023
W.a.t. e.e.n. b.o.e.k!
Heerlijk. Van de eerste tot de laatste letter heb ik genoten, gesmuld en gulzig meegekoerst door de literaire autobiografische wielerklassieker die Krabbé 5 maanden voor mijn geboorte publiceerde.
In 'De renner' beschrijft Tim Krabbé zijn deelname aan de Ronde van Mont Aigoual in juni 1977, een 137km lange koers met verschillende beklimmingen en de 309de koers waar Krabbé aan deelneemt.
"De Ronde van Monta Aigoual is de mooiste en de zwaarste koers van het seizoen"
Krabbé beschrijft minutieus de koers van km tot km, waar hij zich in de koers bevindt, wat er gebeurt, hoe hij zich voelt of welke gedachtes hij heeft. Je kan als lezer niet anders dan meeleven in het koersverloop en vol spanning mee naar de finish lezen.
Wanneer Krabbé zijn gedachtes deelt, steek je als lezer best wel wat op over hoe er gekoerst wordt en wat de geplogenheden tijdens zo'n wedstrijd zijn. Maar ook over wat afzien is, wat motiveren is, waar Krabbé wel of niet op de fiets wil zitten.
Daarnaast krijg je anekdotes en verhalen mee over de grootste koersen of legendarische wielrenners, want
"het is een misverstand dat je het aan de werkelijkheid zou kunnen overlaten zichzelf te vertellen. (...) De werkelijkheid mist de kern van de zaak; om een duidelijk beeld te geven heeft de werkelijkheid een hulpmiddel nodig, de anekdote."
Laat je niet vangen door het thema of wat een beperkte verhaallijn lijkt: De Renner is een literair pareltje an sich. Natuurlijk is het allemaal veel mooier, grootser en indrukwekkender als je van koers, fietsen of wielrennen houdt, maar lezenswaardig is het sowieso. Meeslepend en vol inhoud. Straf. Heel straf. Echt waar.
Heerlijk. Van de eerste tot de laatste letter heb ik genoten, gesmuld en gulzig meegekoerst door de literaire autobiografische wielerklassieker die Krabbé 5 maanden voor mijn geboorte publiceerde.
In 'De renner' beschrijft Tim Krabbé zijn deelname aan de Ronde van Mont Aigoual in juni 1977, een 137km lange koers met verschillende beklimmingen en de 309de koers waar Krabbé aan deelneemt.
"De Ronde van Monta Aigoual is de mooiste en de zwaarste koers van het seizoen"
Krabbé beschrijft minutieus de koers van km tot km, waar hij zich in de koers bevindt, wat er gebeurt, hoe hij zich voelt of welke gedachtes hij heeft. Je kan als lezer niet anders dan meeleven in het koersverloop en vol spanning mee naar de finish lezen.
Wanneer Krabbé zijn gedachtes deelt, steek je als lezer best wel wat op over hoe er gekoerst wordt en wat de geplogenheden tijdens zo'n wedstrijd zijn. Maar ook over wat afzien is, wat motiveren is, waar Krabbé wel of niet op de fiets wil zitten.
Daarnaast krijg je anekdotes en verhalen mee over de grootste koersen of legendarische wielrenners, want
"het is een misverstand dat je het aan de werkelijkheid zou kunnen overlaten zichzelf te vertellen. (...) De werkelijkheid mist de kern van de zaak; om een duidelijk beeld te geven heeft de werkelijkheid een hulpmiddel nodig, de anekdote."
Laat je niet vangen door het thema of wat een beperkte verhaallijn lijkt: De Renner is een literair pareltje an sich. Natuurlijk is het allemaal veel mooier, grootser en indrukwekkender als je van koers, fietsen of wielrennen houdt, maar lezenswaardig is het sowieso. Meeslepend en vol inhoud. Straf. Heel straf. Echt waar.
November 28, 2017
In every race, there is a winner and a loser. I started The Rider * with minuscule knowledge on all things road racing and a strategy to assimilate jargon along the way. Will work, not ideal. Far better to have help. As I learnt, neither reading this book nor competing in professional cycling is a solitary activity. Teamwork gets the job done, and done better than going at it alone. An intense read, the book had me riding high throughout and I finished the race depleted. We have a winner.
Race 303 (June 26, 1977). The logistics, simple. The cyclist double-loops from point A back to point A, via a circuitous route over the highest summit of Cévennes, 5 cols, faux plat in 137 km with the reader sucking wheel from page 1 through 148. First to cross the line wins the Tour de Mont Aigoual and a couple hundred francs. Token money prized more for its significance. Noted as one of many entries into the mental journal of Tim Krabbé, the author’s namesake and amateur cyclist.
The force driving Krabbé is implicit - it is winning, chest thumping, good rider triumphs bad rider, affirmation for a late-starter, culmination of life’s pursuits condensed into a singular moment of conquering “the sweetest, toughest race of the season”. He does not just love cycling, he becomes it spectacularly. All or nothing. No pain, no gain.
“The greater the suffering, the greater the pleasure. That is nature’s payback to riders for the homage they pay her by suffering”.
For four and half hours of unrelenting pace, we go deep into Krabbé’s psyche. His is a mind swishing back and forth childhood and adulthood, present and past, fact and fiction. Observations turn outwards in and inwards out like effortless mental gear change. Bee stinging, rain pelting, tire puncturing, eyebrow waggling, opponent jumping and all elements of exposure to open countryside and open competition are internalized into crystals of thoughts clear and hard, defined and cold, then re-externalized into reactions clear and hard, defined and cold.
As a protagonist, Krabbé is riveting but as a person, he may come across unlikable. Some think him egocentric, I find him ambitious. Others consider him arrogant, I think dedication. Those who call him unemotional, I agree he is a machine but with human frailties. How hard he pushes his bike and the body is reflective of how hard he pushes his mind in a perpetual cycle of psyching up and psyching down, cycling up and cycling down, bolstering up and beating down… and round and round. To physically and mentally stop is to give up. Dumped.
In professional road racing, as Krabbé tells in his ruminations, there are heroes and heroics. How history remembers its cyclists is marred or glorified by how they crossed the line. Some never did. Nothing is sensationalized or dramatized in his narration yet the sensation and the drama is palpable as surely as if I am in a peloton witnessing the unspoken intents that separate a sportsman from sportsmanship.
The prose is mostly just one man’s conveyance of wide-ranging thoughts, with limited conversations. Krabbé is all practical and perfunctory, with bursts of insights expressed occasionally in one word, with most a handful longer but never more than a tense breath’s worth of sentence. Anyone looking for literary rhapsody will not find it with this cyclist going at 40 to 60 km/h fighting headwinds, metaphoric and literal. Verbosity dampens velocity. It diminishes nothing in the sharp clarity of his expressions though, which always cuts to the chase.
I am sold, you can tell. Not to be a cyclist, or even a fan, but on the author. This tale of mind over matter was an instant cult classic deserving of a readership wider than the cycling community because its message is universal. Anyone who has ever experienced a surge of adrenaline or obsession or endurance, or has sacrificed for the sake of game, no, passion ought to pick up The Rider and feel it resonate.
Where The Rider stack-ranks among other amateur road-racing books is irrelevant, I feel, not unlike Krabbé’s stature among his counterparts. On its own merit, The Rider and by extension, the author and the cyclist, holds well against the test of time in brilliantly capturing the psychology of road-racing. Are there better athletes? Better writers? Better books? Always. Until you find that other winner, why not start with this?
[* “De Renner” published 1978 in Dutch, translated 2002 to English by Sam Garrett]
Race 303 (June 26, 1977). The logistics, simple. The cyclist double-loops from point A back to point A, via a circuitous route over the highest summit of Cévennes, 5 cols, faux plat in 137 km with the reader sucking wheel from page 1 through 148. First to cross the line wins the Tour de Mont Aigoual and a couple hundred francs. Token money prized more for its significance. Noted as one of many entries into the mental journal of Tim Krabbé, the author’s namesake and amateur cyclist.
The force driving Krabbé is implicit - it is winning, chest thumping, good rider triumphs bad rider, affirmation for a late-starter, culmination of life’s pursuits condensed into a singular moment of conquering “the sweetest, toughest race of the season”. He does not just love cycling, he becomes it spectacularly. All or nothing. No pain, no gain.
“The greater the suffering, the greater the pleasure. That is nature’s payback to riders for the homage they pay her by suffering”.
For four and half hours of unrelenting pace, we go deep into Krabbé’s psyche. His is a mind swishing back and forth childhood and adulthood, present and past, fact and fiction. Observations turn outwards in and inwards out like effortless mental gear change. Bee stinging, rain pelting, tire puncturing, eyebrow waggling, opponent jumping and all elements of exposure to open countryside and open competition are internalized into crystals of thoughts clear and hard, defined and cold, then re-externalized into reactions clear and hard, defined and cold.
As a protagonist, Krabbé is riveting but as a person, he may come across unlikable. Some think him egocentric, I find him ambitious. Others consider him arrogant, I think dedication. Those who call him unemotional, I agree he is a machine but with human frailties. How hard he pushes his bike and the body is reflective of how hard he pushes his mind in a perpetual cycle of psyching up and psyching down, cycling up and cycling down, bolstering up and beating down… and round and round. To physically and mentally stop is to give up. Dumped.
In professional road racing, as Krabbé tells in his ruminations, there are heroes and heroics. How history remembers its cyclists is marred or glorified by how they crossed the line. Some never did. Nothing is sensationalized or dramatized in his narration yet the sensation and the drama is palpable as surely as if I am in a peloton witnessing the unspoken intents that separate a sportsman from sportsmanship.
The prose is mostly just one man’s conveyance of wide-ranging thoughts, with limited conversations. Krabbé is all practical and perfunctory, with bursts of insights expressed occasionally in one word, with most a handful longer but never more than a tense breath’s worth of sentence. Anyone looking for literary rhapsody will not find it with this cyclist going at 40 to 60 km/h fighting headwinds, metaphoric and literal. Verbosity dampens velocity. It diminishes nothing in the sharp clarity of his expressions though, which always cuts to the chase.
I am sold, you can tell. Not to be a cyclist, or even a fan, but on the author. This tale of mind over matter was an instant cult classic deserving of a readership wider than the cycling community because its message is universal. Anyone who has ever experienced a surge of adrenaline or obsession or endurance, or has sacrificed for the sake of game, no, passion ought to pick up The Rider and feel it resonate.
Where The Rider stack-ranks among other amateur road-racing books is irrelevant, I feel, not unlike Krabbé’s stature among his counterparts. On its own merit, The Rider and by extension, the author and the cyclist, holds well against the test of time in brilliantly capturing the psychology of road-racing. Are there better athletes? Better writers? Better books? Always. Until you find that other winner, why not start with this?
[* “De Renner” published 1978 in Dutch, translated 2002 to English by Sam Garrett]
May 2, 2013
The Rider is a miniature epic, one of the best books I read last year - and definitely the best book I've ever read about the experience of cycling a really long way. It's not easy to convey the visceral, adrenal, repetitive twinge-and-throb of it all, but from the first short paragraph Krabbé does exactly that:
Meyrueis, Lozère, June 26, 1977. Hot and overcast. I take my gear out of the car and put my bike together. Tourists and locals are watching from sidewalk cafés. Non-racers. The emptiness of those lives shocks me…
"The emptiness of those lives shocks me"?! You’ve got to be kidding … but at the same time, maybe that’s what it’s like … by the final page I was utterly convinced. The narrator, a laconic fellow called Tim Krabbé, takes you on a 137-kilometre cycle race in 132 pages of taut, ironic prose. The Tour de Mont Aiguoal is four and a half hours long; the book takes about four and a half hours to read. This makes The Rider an almost perfect real-time evocation of the long-distance cycling experience – especially if you read the whole thing in one sitting. Which you should.
Krabbé pours so much into this slim book. He captures the masochism of road racing, the mock-heroics, the pointlessness, the addictiveness. Why? “Because after the finish all the suffering turns to memories of pleasure, and the greater the suffering, the greater the pleasure.” This is arguably the truest, most beautiful sentence ever written about endurance activities. It applies to yuppy Ironmen and hippy hikers alike – and it resonates deeply with my own masochistic mountain-biking experiences. This voluntary courting of pain, this mortification of the flesh and its ego-bolstering effects, all this stuff is central to western capitalist culture, like Buddhism’s perverse, lycra-clad shadow side. As Krabbé has it: “Road-racing is all about generating pain.” All life is suffering? Bring it on!
Whether you file it under Travel, Sport or Fiction, The Rider is really in a class of its own.
Meyrueis, Lozère, June 26, 1977. Hot and overcast. I take my gear out of the car and put my bike together. Tourists and locals are watching from sidewalk cafés. Non-racers. The emptiness of those lives shocks me…
"The emptiness of those lives shocks me"?! You’ve got to be kidding … but at the same time, maybe that’s what it’s like … by the final page I was utterly convinced. The narrator, a laconic fellow called Tim Krabbé, takes you on a 137-kilometre cycle race in 132 pages of taut, ironic prose. The Tour de Mont Aiguoal is four and a half hours long; the book takes about four and a half hours to read. This makes The Rider an almost perfect real-time evocation of the long-distance cycling experience – especially if you read the whole thing in one sitting. Which you should.
Krabbé pours so much into this slim book. He captures the masochism of road racing, the mock-heroics, the pointlessness, the addictiveness. Why? “Because after the finish all the suffering turns to memories of pleasure, and the greater the suffering, the greater the pleasure.” This is arguably the truest, most beautiful sentence ever written about endurance activities. It applies to yuppy Ironmen and hippy hikers alike – and it resonates deeply with my own masochistic mountain-biking experiences. This voluntary courting of pain, this mortification of the flesh and its ego-bolstering effects, all this stuff is central to western capitalist culture, like Buddhism’s perverse, lycra-clad shadow side. As Krabbé has it: “Road-racing is all about generating pain.” All life is suffering? Bring it on!
Whether you file it under Travel, Sport or Fiction, The Rider is really in a class of its own.
January 28, 2023
This is easily the best depiction of a cycle race I have read. It is a breathless ride (pun?) from the start to finish as it goes into the mind of the author who is trying to win the race. I think if you read this, you do not need to read 99% of the cycling books out there.
Also, while there are plenty of esoteric cycling terms in the book, the story will appeal to all readers. It is the triumph of the Human spirit that is at the heart of the book. Take away the cycling jargon and you have a book worthy of hemingway or any of the greats.
Also, while there are plenty of esoteric cycling terms in the book, the story will appeal to all readers. It is the triumph of the Human spirit that is at the heart of the book. Take away the cycling jargon and you have a book worthy of hemingway or any of the greats.
November 8, 2015
James's choice for book club this month, and I was a little dubious going in. Given how much cycling we watch on TV during the year, did I really want to spend precious reading time on it too? Particularly with the enormous pile of books on my to read list at the moment. So it was a pleasant surprise to find that I really enjoyed it, a fictional account of a climbers race with Tim Krabbe as a contender. Zipped through the 150 pages to reach the exciting finish line in time to discuss on Wednesday!
March 30, 2024
There’s only like 4 ppl I would recommend this to, but I’ve already called all 4 ofthem and told them all about it
September 26, 2018
Out ... stand ... ing!!!
Wow ... I really enjoyed that!... now I'm kicking myself for not having read it years ago. What a short, but oh-so-captivating-and-compelling ride! (No pun intended....)
A cult classic, written decades ago, and subsequently translated, but ... probably ... the most entertaining book I've read about cycling (and, specifically, competitive cycling). A slender volume with two additional factors in its favor: (1) Krabbe is no dummy - he's a professional writer (both journalist and novelist) who is also an elite/champion chess player (so it's no surprise he "talks a good game"); and (2) Krabbe is hysterically self-deprecating, and his anecdotes about the evolution of his sporting career (or in other words, growing up) sprinkle the book with humor, color, and joy.
Frankly, I don't know how much this would appeal to a non-rider - someone who never raced or doesn't have significant time in the saddle (not just hours or days, but the thousands of miles and climbs and group rides that bind together the kind of folks who feel comfortable at high speeds in a pace line or echelon, opening doors to the pain cave, and reminding us that professional cyclists aren't ... by any stretch of the imagination ... anything like you and me....) Full disclosure: I've always loved riding, and I've accumulated the miles, and while I've rubbed shoulders with many of the greats, I fully understand/recognize that we are different breeds.... (OK, pet peeve: it makes me crazy when folks watch professional sports on TV and think, heck, I could do that - they're almost certainly wrong, but that's another topic for another day....)
In any event, the book was not only hugely entertaining (to me), but it felt entirely genuine and completely believable. Really pleased that I finally got around to reading it.
Wow ... I really enjoyed that!... now I'm kicking myself for not having read it years ago. What a short, but oh-so-captivating-and-compelling ride! (No pun intended....)
A cult classic, written decades ago, and subsequently translated, but ... probably ... the most entertaining book I've read about cycling (and, specifically, competitive cycling). A slender volume with two additional factors in its favor: (1) Krabbe is no dummy - he's a professional writer (both journalist and novelist) who is also an elite/champion chess player (so it's no surprise he "talks a good game"); and (2) Krabbe is hysterically self-deprecating, and his anecdotes about the evolution of his sporting career (or in other words, growing up) sprinkle the book with humor, color, and joy.
Frankly, I don't know how much this would appeal to a non-rider - someone who never raced or doesn't have significant time in the saddle (not just hours or days, but the thousands of miles and climbs and group rides that bind together the kind of folks who feel comfortable at high speeds in a pace line or echelon, opening doors to the pain cave, and reminding us that professional cyclists aren't ... by any stretch of the imagination ... anything like you and me....) Full disclosure: I've always loved riding, and I've accumulated the miles, and while I've rubbed shoulders with many of the greats, I fully understand/recognize that we are different breeds.... (OK, pet peeve: it makes me crazy when folks watch professional sports on TV and think, heck, I could do that - they're almost certainly wrong, but that's another topic for another day....)
In any event, the book was not only hugely entertaining (to me), but it felt entirely genuine and completely believable. Really pleased that I finally got around to reading it.
November 30, 2020
Wow. Really good. Incredible, elegant, precise prose. Encapsulates so much of the joy and suffering that I consider myself lucky enough to have felt this year through riding my road bike 1,000+ miles. COVID cancelled the first bike race I’d ever registered for out here in Brevard, but it’ll happen soon!
There are so many excellent quotes, as Krabbé has an excellent sense of humor too. Here’s just a couple regarding the immense amount of physical effort that’s needed in races:
• “The best I could hope for was seventh (in that race) - how long before I might run into someone who knew how good that was?” (85)
• “But during the race I stay with him. Because I want to. Cold, rain, kilometers, mud; when I want something, I can do it. I am a hero, you see.” (94)
There are so many excellent quotes, as Krabbé has an excellent sense of humor too. Here’s just a couple regarding the immense amount of physical effort that’s needed in races:
• “The best I could hope for was seventh (in that race) - how long before I might run into someone who knew how good that was?” (85)
• “But during the race I stay with him. Because I want to. Cold, rain, kilometers, mud; when I want something, I can do it. I am a hero, you see.” (94)
May 30, 2009
cycling and narcissism.
james told me that this book would tell me more about racing. fair enough. i did learn a bit about the techniques and some of the history, anecdotal as it was. more though, this book reminded me why i dislike organized and competitive sports: the people who enjoy them are self-centered, probably mean, and almost certainly not people with whom i'd enjoy spending time:
“Road racing imitates life, the way it would be without the corruptive influence of civilization. When you see an enemy lying on the ground, what’s your first reaction? To help him to his feet. In road racing, you kick him to death.”
at least it's decently written.
james told me that this book would tell me more about racing. fair enough. i did learn a bit about the techniques and some of the history, anecdotal as it was. more though, this book reminded me why i dislike organized and competitive sports: the people who enjoy them are self-centered, probably mean, and almost certainly not people with whom i'd enjoy spending time:
“Road racing imitates life, the way it would be without the corruptive influence of civilization. When you see an enemy lying on the ground, what’s your first reaction? To help him to his feet. In road racing, you kick him to death.”
at least it's decently written.
June 22, 2019
Rightly called a classic of sports writing.
Written in the 70s, the author tells his experience in a fictional 137km amateur cycling road race. He takes the reader into sidetracks of great riders and rides, his own race experiences, his competitors' experiences and various other meanderings.
He does not flinch with the pain of competition, the agony of losing and the reason why the rare win is so emotionally celebrated.
Written in the 70s, the author tells his experience in a fictional 137km amateur cycling road race. He takes the reader into sidetracks of great riders and rides, his own race experiences, his competitors' experiences and various other meanderings.
He does not flinch with the pain of competition, the agony of losing and the reason why the rare win is so emotionally celebrated.
May 13, 2008
Amazing, mundane and heartbreaking all at the same time...I loved it.
Anyone who's never raced a bike would be mystified as to the appeal of this book. Anyone who has will completely identify with Krabbé's stream of consciousness heading toward delirium writing style.
Sit on Krabbé's shoulder as he pedals through the 137km of the 1977 Tour de Mont Aigoual. You're going to love it.
Anyone who's never raced a bike would be mystified as to the appeal of this book. Anyone who has will completely identify with Krabbé's stream of consciousness heading toward delirium writing style.
Sit on Krabbé's shoulder as he pedals through the 137km of the 1977 Tour de Mont Aigoual. You're going to love it.
January 5, 2024
This is definitely funny, and I can see why it’s a cult classic. I feel like it definitely speaks more to the male cyclist a bit more than the female. Sometimes I would forget the author was being tongue-in-cheek and think, does the character really take himself that seriously? But so many amateur riders do, and that’s why the story is spot on. Quite a few racing history highlights thrown in there - kind of reminds me of a funny GCN documentary.
December 1, 2020
Wow what a book... Makes me want to break through some sort of invisible threshold and try racing for myself. The way Krabbe writes this is familiar to anyone who suffers on a bike, but it clearly takes it to a level far beyond what I have ever experienced.
January 7, 2022
3/5
Entretenido libro de “autoficción”.
Entretenido libro de “autoficción”.
July 17, 2022
De koers vanuit het hoofd van een renner. Geweldig om te lezen.
Vol koerswijsheden zoals daar zijn: aanvallen mag je niet te vroeg doen, maar wel vroeger dan de anderen. En het verlangen naar een lekke band: het bestaat!
Vol koerswijsheden zoals daar zijn: aanvallen mag je niet te vroeg doen, maar wel vroeger dan de anderen. En het verlangen naar een lekke band: het bestaat!
October 16, 2023
Genieten!
July 11, 2013
A masterpiece! Tim Krabbé turns a 137 kilometer cycling race in the South of France into a veritable odyssey. He thoroughly captures the bloody-seriousness of endurence athletes and the delirious, addictive, masochistic and purifying experience it can result in. Also, the story offers true insight in the nature of stamina, ambition and the continuum between loyalty and rivalry.
I can imagine that for some the references to the history of cycling felt a bit stale (if you were already familiar with them) or that they are a bit off-putting (if you have no idea who this ‘Poupou’ is, for instance). However, I think these references are an integral part of what Krabbé tries to do with the story. Firstly, the story continually shifts between moving forward in time (the proceedings of the race) and moving backward in time (going deeper into the rider’s past sporting experiences, but also going into the history of cycling). This going backward may reflect that the rider’s mind, as he gets more exhausted, more and more retreats into some kind of primordial mode. Higher cognitive functions fall away and the prehistoric part of the brain kicks in. This is mirrored in the rider’s mind also retreating to earlier memories, that may also be more fundamental to his character. Secondly, Krabbé attempts to show how sports are part of our present-day secular mythology, and cycling legends are definitely a part of that mythology. More generally, I think there are some interesting religious undertones in this book, and it may even be an illustration of sport taking over religion’s function as a source of asceticism and, as philosopher Peter Sloterdijk calls them, ‘anthropotechnics’.
This book makes excellent use of the stream of consciousness and interior monologue. Further, I love the concise, Hemingway-esque style, and the small coherencies and circles in the storyline. Tim Krabbé is an under-rated author, but in my view he is certainly one of the best. I would recommend reading this book in one sitting (especially while watching the Tour de France in the background). Once you finish the story, you will probably want to take your bicycle and race down the street.
I can imagine that for some the references to the history of cycling felt a bit stale (if you were already familiar with them) or that they are a bit off-putting (if you have no idea who this ‘Poupou’ is, for instance). However, I think these references are an integral part of what Krabbé tries to do with the story. Firstly, the story continually shifts between moving forward in time (the proceedings of the race) and moving backward in time (going deeper into the rider’s past sporting experiences, but also going into the history of cycling). This going backward may reflect that the rider’s mind, as he gets more exhausted, more and more retreats into some kind of primordial mode. Higher cognitive functions fall away and the prehistoric part of the brain kicks in. This is mirrored in the rider’s mind also retreating to earlier memories, that may also be more fundamental to his character. Secondly, Krabbé attempts to show how sports are part of our present-day secular mythology, and cycling legends are definitely a part of that mythology. More generally, I think there are some interesting religious undertones in this book, and it may even be an illustration of sport taking over religion’s function as a source of asceticism and, as philosopher Peter Sloterdijk calls them, ‘anthropotechnics’.
This book makes excellent use of the stream of consciousness and interior monologue. Further, I love the concise, Hemingway-esque style, and the small coherencies and circles in the storyline. Tim Krabbé is an under-rated author, but in my view he is certainly one of the best. I would recommend reading this book in one sitting (especially while watching the Tour de France in the background). Once you finish the story, you will probably want to take your bicycle and race down the street.
May 12, 2012
Tim Krabbe: Un jugador de ajedrez que en los años 70 estuvo entre los 20 primeros de Holanda... Periodista, escritor... y además ¡ciclista!
En este libro relata una prueba amateur de un día, celebrada en 1977, en Francia, describiendo kilómetro a kilómetro, todo lo que pasa por su cabeza durante la carrera y salpica la narración con muchas anécdotas del ciclismo profesional de la época, citando a Mercks, Thevenett, Bahamontes...
De vez en cuando, el dolor físico, lleva a su cerebro un poco más allá del raciocinio y lo cuenta de un modo muy divertido y ameno.
En la actualidad, mantiene una página web dedicada esencialmente al ajedrez, donde también se puede consultar su bibliografía.
En este libro relata una prueba amateur de un día, celebrada en 1977, en Francia, describiendo kilómetro a kilómetro, todo lo que pasa por su cabeza durante la carrera y salpica la narración con muchas anécdotas del ciclismo profesional de la época, citando a Mercks, Thevenett, Bahamontes...
De vez en cuando, el dolor físico, lleva a su cerebro un poco más allá del raciocinio y lo cuenta de un modo muy divertido y ameno.
En la actualidad, mantiene una página web dedicada esencialmente al ajedrez, donde también se puede consultar su bibliografía.
May 1, 2019
I enjoyed this short ride with Mr Krabbé and did gain some insight into the mindset of people who give pride of place to road racing in their lives. Krabbé was a 30 year old chess grand master when he decided to take up cycling and seems to have embraced it with the same pugnacity as his other passion. "The Rider" deals as much with the volatile emotions the author feels towards his fellow competitors as with his training and the physical challenges involved in the sport. Yet although there may not be any book quite like it, I can't see why this should have achieved cult status outside cycling fanatics.
February 15, 2016
Whoa! Jeg tror dette må bli biosirkelboka mi.
Til tross for... at den er tidsbegrenset, crossoversk, litterær
og sansynligvis vil få meg disket.
Til tross for... at den er tidsbegrenset, crossoversk, litterær
og sansynligvis vil få meg disket.
July 28, 2022
A fascinating read which relies on Krabbe's experience but is less memoir than imagination and visualization of one race with many detours to his past and to famous professional races.
I've never read anything like it and I've read quite a few sports memoirs. At first I thought it would only be of interest to those who know cycling as fans or recreational peloton riding, but it can stand as a novel and certainly has in Holland. As Crabbe said, daring the comparison, "you don't have to like whaling to enjoy Moby Dick."
Some great lines that transcend cycling at get at all sports and even anything one works hard at:
The famous opener, "Hot and overcast. I take my gear out of the car and put my bike together. Tourists and locals are watching from sidewalk cafés. Non-racers. The emptiness of those lives shocks me.” (1).
"On a bike your consciousness is small. The harder you work, the smaller it gets. Every thought that arises is immediately and utterly true, every unexpected event is something you'd know all along but had only forgotten for a moment. A pounding riff from a song, a bit of a long division that starts over and over, a magnified anger at someone, is enough to fill your thoughts (33).
"Shifting is a kind of painkiller" (53).
Each of these speak deeply to me harkening back to my time as high school runner and also to my few "races" in small amateur pelotons on weeknights after work in the heat. And, of course, the 10,000s of hours I've spent running, hiking, and biking on my own. The emptiness of those lives who have not logged the hours surprises me too, and yet I'm keenly aware that most of thos people are much happier and productive than I am.
Krabbe chases transcendence through this novel-memoir-imaginarium. So do many of us through sport and it seems very few, if any, find it beyond a fleeting moment or two every so often.
I've never read anything like it and I've read quite a few sports memoirs. At first I thought it would only be of interest to those who know cycling as fans or recreational peloton riding, but it can stand as a novel and certainly has in Holland. As Crabbe said, daring the comparison, "you don't have to like whaling to enjoy Moby Dick."
Some great lines that transcend cycling at get at all sports and even anything one works hard at:
The famous opener, "Hot and overcast. I take my gear out of the car and put my bike together. Tourists and locals are watching from sidewalk cafés. Non-racers. The emptiness of those lives shocks me.” (1).
"On a bike your consciousness is small. The harder you work, the smaller it gets. Every thought that arises is immediately and utterly true, every unexpected event is something you'd know all along but had only forgotten for a moment. A pounding riff from a song, a bit of a long division that starts over and over, a magnified anger at someone, is enough to fill your thoughts (33).
"Shifting is a kind of painkiller" (53).
Each of these speak deeply to me harkening back to my time as high school runner and also to my few "races" in small amateur pelotons on weeknights after work in the heat. And, of course, the 10,000s of hours I've spent running, hiking, and biking on my own. The emptiness of those lives who have not logged the hours surprises me too, and yet I'm keenly aware that most of thos people are much happier and productive than I am.
Krabbe chases transcendence through this novel-memoir-imaginarium. So do many of us through sport and it seems very few, if any, find it beyond a fleeting moment or two every so often.
March 5, 2019
the kind of book you should definitely read if you race bikes but definitely not read if you don't
July 31, 2021
Gekregen van m'n huisgenoot en wielrenmaatje Art, dit prachtige geschreven boek heeft weer een nieuwe vlam ontschoten in m'n liefde voor wielrennen.
January 17, 2024
This book makes me want to live my life!!!!
March 11, 2020
Un libro ícono que traté de leer varias veces y que ahora al fin decidí dar por terminado porque cada vez me ha parecido UNA LATA. Y eso que soy bastante ciclista. No profesional ni nada parecido eso sí, jajaja.
Pensé que iba a poder acceder, como lector polizonte, a la emoción y la vorágine de lo que significa cruzar el mundo sobre esas dos ruedas de manera pro, algo que en esta vida a mí solo me toca imaginar... pero no. Cero emoción para mí, y al final solo logré llegar hasta pasadita la mitad.
Eso sí, el libro es muy famoso y supuestamente revolucionario en cuanto al ciclismo, así que me imagino que mi estrella solitaria es sólo por gusto personal.
Cita que destaqué:
"Se encoge de hombros y se lamenta del poco tiempo que ha tenido para entrenar. Todos los corredores dicen lo mismo, siempre. Como si temiesen ser juzgados por esa parte de su potencial en el que justamente reside su mérito. "Tíos - solté una vez en el vestuario -, me he matado a entrenar". Se produjo un silencio de asombro seguido de algunas risillas, pero temí que fuesen a tomarme en serio".
Pensé que iba a poder acceder, como lector polizonte, a la emoción y la vorágine de lo que significa cruzar el mundo sobre esas dos ruedas de manera pro, algo que en esta vida a mí solo me toca imaginar... pero no. Cero emoción para mí, y al final solo logré llegar hasta pasadita la mitad.
Eso sí, el libro es muy famoso y supuestamente revolucionario en cuanto al ciclismo, así que me imagino que mi estrella solitaria es sólo por gusto personal.
Cita que destaqué:
"Se encoge de hombros y se lamenta del poco tiempo que ha tenido para entrenar. Todos los corredores dicen lo mismo, siempre. Como si temiesen ser juzgados por esa parte de su potencial en el que justamente reside su mérito. "Tíos - solté una vez en el vestuario -, me he matado a entrenar". Se produjo un silencio de asombro seguido de algunas risillas, pero temí que fuesen a tomarme en serio".
September 25, 2020
Tussen de wielrenners in Zuid-Limburg met de tour nog in het hoofd. Wat een heerlijk boek om te lezen. Je kruipt in het hoofd van een renner tijdens een heroïsche tocht naar de Mont Aigoual. Waarom begin je eraan?, Dat denkt Tim Krabbé zelf ook vaak. Maar het afzien is verslavend, ook voor de lezer.
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