A beautifully written exploration of the links between cycling, creativity and the landscape.
In this deeply personal and lyrical exploration of what it means to ride a bicycle, Paul Maunder explores how our memories have a dialogue with landscape and how cycling and creativity are connected. Taking a journey through the places that have shaped him, we ride across wild moorland, through suburbia and city streets, into quintessentially English pastoral scenes. We see too some of the darker parts of the British countryside, sites of great secrecy that intrigue the imagination. This is a book about how landscape can sustain us, and how even an hour's escape can inspire our creative sides. The bicycle allows us to explore and dream, and return in time for dinner.
Für Radfahrer kommt der Wind meistens von vorne. Paul Maunder ist da keine Ausnahme. Aber wenn er darauf zurückblick, welchen Anteil das Radfahren an seinem Leben nimmt, ist es die Sache, die ihn antreibt, wie Rückenwind eben.
Dabei fängt er seine Geschichte mit einer Ausfahrt an, die ganz anders hätte ausgehen können, als sie es glücklicherweise getan hat. Er wollte ausgerechnet an Weihnachten im tiefverschneiten Northumberland eine Radtour machen und kam gerade mal zu einem Graben, den er wegen des Schnees nicht sehen konnte. Passiert ist ihm nichts, aber er hat das Erlebnis zum Anlass genommen, über sein Leben als Radfahrer nachzudenken.
Am Anfang standen erste kleine und dann immer größere Touren mit seinem Vater. Natürlich auf dem Rennrad, wobei der Vater eher auf bequeme und nicht auf schicke Rennradbekleidung Wert legte und bei ihm der Spaß an den (zugegeben langen) Touren im Vordergrund stand, bei denen der Status und politische Ansichten außen vor blieben.
Sein Sohn dagegen hat sich schon früh fürs Radrennen entschieden. Natürlich wollte er gewinnen, aber ihm haben zwei entscheidende Voraussetzungen gefehlt: der Biss beim Training und der Willen, sich zu quälen. Das mag daran liegen, dass Rennradfahren eine eher langweilige Sache ist. Außer dem Asphalt unter sich und dem Rücken des Vordermanns sieht man nicht viel. Für Paul ging es so weit, dass er irgendwann das Rennrad in die Berühmte Ecke stellte und während des Studiums nicht mehr anfasste.
Für ihn ging das Leben weiter und nahm einen ungeplanten Weg. Die Lektüre von „American Psycho“ brachte ihn dazu, über eine Karriere als Schriftsteller nachzudenken und das brachte ihn wiederum zurück aufs Rad. Radfahren hat geholfen, nicht nur die Zeit zwischen Einreichen eines Manuskripts bis zu dessen Ablehnung zu überstehen, sondern auch den Frust darüber loszuwerden. Im Gegensatz zum Rennen war der Blick jetzt offen für das, was sich neben der Straße abspielt. Eine neue, aber angenehme Sichtweise. Oder, wie er es ausdrückt: Cycling is about mapping the small Worlds around us.”
This is an excellent book. I only awarded 4* instead of 5 as this is the first non-fiction book I have reviewed and so needed to leave space..tho I cant imagine anything being much better. I am a leisure cyclist myself and so many of the fears and delights described in this book resonated. I have also rode and known so many of the places he describes and the way the landscape is put into context and the references as to how other earlier writers have described such places. A truly great read..try it!
The Wind At My Back is Paul Maunder’s memoir of failing to find success, both as a professional cyclist and a novelist. He finally puts these two failures together to make a successful career as a cycling journalist. In that sense I found The Wind At My Back heartening. People see success in terms of well-marked routes, whether that means a structured progression through the civil service, or making it as a professional cyclist or novelist. But there’s no shame in turning aside to explore winding byways, which might be more suited to a particular individual. And this sentiment marries nicely with The Wind At My Back’s many descriptions of cycle rides on quiet roads.
However, with no disrespect to Paul Maunder, I can perhaps see why he didn’t make it down the road of successful novel writing. His book reveals a personality more interested in places than people.
“My failure was in becoming too dependent on this sense of place, and not investigating people as much as places.”
Maunder writes of trying to overcome this, but in a revealing aside while talking about Proust, he says that empathy is something you learn. I don’t believe this is true. Certainly children seem to develop an understanding of others as they get older, but it is also the case that some people never develop this ability. And if empathy does not develop, you cannot teach it. It is possible to learn the social conventions of empathy - as Sheldon Cooper often tries to do in The Big Bang Theory. Psychology Today also tells me that people who are naturally empathetic can become more so, if they live in the sort of society that values fellow feeling. But essentially if you lack empathy you can’t learn it. I became aware of this sad fact through much reading when someone I know had the misfortune to marry a woman who had a constitutional inability to comprehend the feelings of anyone except herself.
Paul Maunder’s book does reveal a lack of natural empathy. I’m not suggesting any slur on the author’s character; but it is true to say he focuses on himself and the places he sees from his bike. You feel little about anyone else. He talks about empathy, but only in the sense of trying to learn how to do it, like another technique taught on a fiction writing course. It did not seem to be a natural part of him. He tells you about empathy but does not show it; and we all know the novelist’s rule about showing and not telling. There is a brief attempt towards the end of the book to imagine himself into the life of his two friends Daniel and Sarah, but this is soon abandoned. Apart from his father who you feel briefly as a person, it is Paul Maunder all the way. You hear about the places he has been, his cycle related philosophical reflections, which in an unfocused sort of way, are interesting. But the people he knows remain as ghostly figures beside the road.
We can’t help who we are, and if this author has trouble understanding other people, he does come to understand himself in an honest way. In those terms his book ends as a success.
De første 100-150 sider var alt for meget skildring af engelske forstæder og lokalområder. Derefter åbner den sig, bliver mere personlig og relaterbar for en dansker - generel om cykling og livet.