The Bicycle That Understood Character and Kindness
The bicycle rode itself. It was the only one of its kind, which is why so many remember it, and so many do not recall it all.
The Tour de France began during a blazing July.
It was the sort of heat that makes cyclists dread stopping because they are stifled by the loss of wind that cools them. The bicycle, however, didn’t need wind, for it carried no rider.
Two lackadaisical-but-still-noticeable finishes in the Spring races—7th in Paris-Roubaix and 4th in the Giro di Lombardia—announced the bicycle as a podium contender in the greatest of all races, the Tour de France.
The bicycle had no team. It rode alone without domestiques—those indispensable helpers and pack mules who support team leaders—or even a team car. Fans never handed it those small bags filled with carbohydrates and electrolytes, yet it never complained. It didn’t need them, but it would have been nice to be included.
The bicycle knew it could not be beaten.
Time trials bored it. Long, flat breakaway stages and daily tactics proved hopelessly dull. It merely logged its miles and made sure that it remained close to the leaders in the overall general classification before the deciding mountain stages. It never chased the leader’s yellow jersey, which it could have from the first day – a bold stroke for even the greatest legends of the Tour. It understood the grace of remaining quiet.
Now, however, well into the race, the bicycle waited to pounce.
The mountains would strain its gears, chain, frame, pedals, handlebars – everything. The bicycle had itself tuned thanks to the kindness of another team’s mechanic – its good nature attracted friends. Everyone understood the bicycle’s inherent advantage, but they said nothing because they knew that other matters weighed it down, just as everyone else.
When the mountains finally arrived, the bicycle was in 9th position, just over 11 minutes off the pace. Perfect. It knew it could win the Tour with one blistering effort, so it used the first two climbing days to test its rivals. It did not measure them according to acceleration or wattage pedaled or lean mass or the strength of their support teams. It measured what they possessed inside. With few exceptions, the bicycle found little.
One, the Italian Giovanni Coppolo, was in 8th place. Few believed that he would stand on the podium in Paris. The bicycle, however, knew otherwise. It had decided that Coppolo, who stayed late by his team bus and signed caps, shook hands, and represented his country and cycling well, would win the Tour. Yes, win it. The bicycle would see to it. It was what should happen.
The third day of climbs was inhuman. Seven riders remained in contention, including Coppolo—a noted climber himself—and the bicycle. The bicycle accelerated like a bee. It wanted to know who could stay with it. Four tried. Coppolo and a Dutch two-time Tour champion wisely stayed behind. In cycling terms, the group of four cracked, their legs burning so intensely that they could not match the bicycle’s seemingly effortless climbing. They were confounded. With one-third of the day to go, they faded back to the main pack of riders, their status as elite climbers shattered in just hours.
After a deserved rest day, only three could win the Tour. The bicycle was in first place; Coppolo stood second; the Dutchman was third in what looked to be the order on the final podium in Paris. Few now doubted that the bicycle would drop the others on the last climb of the day, which was rated beyond categorization – so difficult that no words would do.
The last climb proceeded as predicted. The Dutchman, who had both nothing and everything to lose, followed the bicycle. Coppolo wisely held back again. He knew his rival would crumble, and he was perfectly happy to stand next to the bicycle on the podium. Coppolo kept pedaling when the former champion slid back to the field, now another mortal.
Only the bicycle and me, Coppolo thought. Second place! He was ecstatic.
Far ahead, the bicycle let up its pace until Coppolo pulled alongside it. Though now tied for the day, it held a two-minute overall lead. Then the bicycle nudged Coppolo ever so gently and moved to the right shoulder of the road, where it stopped. Coppollo stopped with it. Was it ceding the Tour? Why? It was indeed, yes, because it respected Coppolo’s humble demeanor and the way he treated people. It nudged Coppolo again to implore him. Go, go. With tears in his eyes, Coppollo did just that. With the bicycle at a standstill on the side of the road until every rider had passed, Coppolo won the Tour. The bicycle would not even be on the podium. The press was beside itself. France stood still. Purists hardly breathed. Italy erupted!
When the Tour ended two days later in Paris, Coppolo celebrated as champion. Before he donned the final yellow jersey as the race’s victor, he stepped down and found the bicycle, which he lifted onto his shoulder. On the podium, he leaned it against his side.
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"It understood the grace of remaining quiet."
"Was it ceding the Tour? Why? It was indeed, yes, because it respected Coppolo’s humble demeanor and the way he treated people."
This is a beautiful story!
It's exhausting living in a culture emphasizing cut-throat competition, self-promotion, winning at any price, transactional relationships, elevation of greed, appearances, and superlatives. Let's bring back humility, empathy, and grace.
Well, this kind of turns all the "AI making things sentient" on its head. Ben, did you have that sort of commentary in mind when you started writing this?