Pinapple

At 4.15 Manuel Roca was in bed and could hear the rain pounding on his bedroom window. He was not surprised since bad weather was forecast the day before and therefore he did not panic because he already had a plan B for the day (Plan A was another 6 hours on the saddle). He set his alarm clock for 6.15 and fell asleep like a toddler. When he got up, he put his bicycle on the turbo trainer and started spinning his legs. He programmed 3 sections of 30 minutes each, in which he gradually increased the intensity. The trainer has a magnet resistance unit which can vary the power output by means of a twist-lever adjustment unit mounted on the handlebar. There are 5 different levels of resistance which Manuel Roca shifted at a time he mindfully set. He did 10 minutes easy followed but other 10 minutes less easy than, he upgraded the effort for 5 minutes at mid-intensity. He concluded each interval by splitting the last 5 minutes in two sections; hard and very hard. The last 2 minutes and a half were tough as sweat poured out at every pore, legs burnt and the breathing struggled to obtain the needed oxygen. Manuel Roca had to focus hard on the effort; he looked at the sweat drops falling from his arms or forehead. He eyed them as they bounced on the bicycle frame and split in hundreds of little drops. He immersed in his effort only to emerge back to the earth surface after a pair of minutes of stark detachment from the planet occurrences. Done 1 hour and a half on the turbo trainer, Manuel Roca wore his trainers and off he went for an hour running along the River Maco. He simply wanted to live and suddenly he did feel a stinging nostalgia for his own life. He suddenly thought he had accumulated some delay on his own existence and by instinct he upped his running pace. Artists, philosophers or technology will never help Manuel Roca to catch up with his recent-discovered lateness; nobody but him can contribute to cancel it. As he overtook the turning point he began desiring to defy time, its mystery, the ticking hours, the flying days, the burden of the years. Faster and faster Manuel Roca run on his way back whereas his mind got to calculate that his delay was approximately of 6 years; circa 2190 days. He was not able to explain to himself how he worked it out but, he intuited that it was 6 years, minimum. As he nearly got back home, a grim thought peeped out; if he was late over his life, he was consequently early on his death. He shivered as he put his cycling gear on and off he went on his bike. Cars were queuing to park by the big shop centre in town. People he never took seriously. Manuel Roca thought he could gain some time back on his delay if he started getting up half an hour earlier each morning during autumn and winter and increased that to 1 hour in spring and summer. He figured out that he could roughly retrieve one month of his life each year. At the age of 109 Manuel Roca will have zeroed his delay on his own life. After 2 hours cycling he was back home. He devoured half pineapple, a yogurt with some cereals and off he went to bed to recover some energy. When he woke up his eyes would hardly stay open. The prime impulse was to go back to bed but Manuel Roca is an obstinate person and wanted to spend some time writing. He cannot be considered other but a doer, certainly not a couch potato that he profoundly disdains. Another page of his life approaching Pecol he wrote off, a little sin that he will read over and over again in the years to come. He was starting to feel hungry and thus opened the fridge and got the remaining half of the pineapple. It was ripe, sweet and juicy and same as above Manuel Roca devoured it. He loved squeezing a mouthful of it in his mouth and enjoyed the drop the juice did down his stomach. He followed it with his mind, he concentrated on its consistency, and he wandered about the real benefit of this vitamins-rich fruit. He stopped thinking only to jump again on his turbo trainer for another hour. He copied what he did in the morning to fulfil the plan B.

Tomatoes and mozzarella

This morning, another 6 hours ride has been added to Manuel Roca’s collection. Frank Lagache and Penkish escorted him in his umpteenth drill. Pecol is now around the corner and Manuel Roca starts feeling that his condition is really peaking. This year, he has been taking the race build-up really seriously. No eating shit food, going to bed very early and training hard are some of the things Manuel Roca is undergoing to do better than he did last year in the same sport event. He knows his condition is way better then it was this time last year. For him training for cycling is a combination of science and art and since he does not have any facilities to consider the former, he has to focus all his attention on the latter. By and large, Manuel Roca loves thinking of his training as a form of art. Riding his bike brings overall harmony to his body; he is hooked on seeing everything occurring in and around him in balance. It is like writing which he deems as a therapeutic activity. Harmony and balance are part of Manuel Roca’s mantra. Focusing on the way he pedals, matching his pedalling to his breathing. Being in tune with his body; monitoring it both on and off the bike and managing pain. All of it makes Manuel Roca feel good, and teaches him patience. At the moment, he is seeing his legs changing shape. He notices muscles and veins coming out the lean layer of skin. They are like sculptures that are being worked on. Manuel Roca attributes this view of his training on his being an unmatchable romantic. He comes across as a conscientious person who loves talking philosophy and sport. When it comes to these two subjects Manuel Roca seems to prefer the direct route. He matches philosophy to cycling in the same way tomatoes match mozzarella. A massive boost of self-confidence go through his mind as he strains every fibre to get his bicycle over a summit as quick as possible thinking of Nietzsche’s superman. His legs are ready to explode; he handles the speed and big gears better. He goes out of the saddle observing his legs pumping up and down and pushing power down into the pedals. He believes he can go deeper than he thinks; he just has to focus and have self-belief. Digging deep, focusing and managing the pain in the same way Schopenhauer endeavoured on an impossible thought. He never goes on power or heart rate; too sophisticated. He rides hard on a climb, then put in a burst and recovers quickly. He thinks, meditates, concentrates, as quickly as he wants his legs spin. His legs feel blocked if he pushes a big gear; they only work when they spin fast. As he gets older and progresses he goes more and more against any sort of trend. He remains approachable but behaves very reservedly.
Manuel Roca is heavily into decorating shadows and ghosts so that these appear less fearsome. He spends time writing as it does not consider this activity the only sin against Nature; he hides to develop his passion, alone, just to show the final fruit to himself only. Somehow, he is convinced to contribute to the faculty of the uselessness; and a lot of loneliness.

Pitch-black

In the first day of the new week on the bike, Manuel Roca worked on his legs strengthening for about three hours. The method he follows to build up power is to push a long gear either on hills or on the flat. By doing so, he can feel his legs muscles endeavouring to keep the bike moving. This kind of work out does not require a big use of oxygen; in fact, Manuel Roca never gets out of breath. The only focus goes to those muscle bundles that serve to push the pedals up and down.
After this work out section on the bike, as every morning, Manuel Roca went to work. There, he likes showing different personalities depending on the diverse occasions that create. He considers this way of acting as a sort of game where he can change the role he plays as he was a movie actor. There are days in which he shows all his diffidence which is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the truest of all his features. Manuel Roca really lacks confidence in other people. Trusting only himself is one of his peculiarities; he does not want to confess this trait of his too openly since he knows that he cannot be fully understood. All his studying, reading, meditating on his bicycle has transformed him in an uncommon and unique person. Sometimes, he pretends to join his colleagues in conversations so that he can play a different role but, in all honesty, that is pure acting. He can feel that most of the time people see him as being a strange person because he dodges most of the talking taking place in the office. This aspect of his office life does not alter his mood. Manuel Roca sits down, switches his computer on; his thoughts became more and more illogical and circular. He imagines the sun casting down the Bettola Mount as nothing is really occurring. The shadow of the mountains lengthens above his day-dreaming until it all turns pitch-black. He is ready for the day with his casual acquaintances.

Philippe Petit

It is a duel between Manuel Roca and the time spent on the road on his bike. He left home at 5 o’clock this morning; the sky was overcast and some patchy rain kept him company during the first hour. He was on his own and had not planned to meet anyone for the entire length of his training. Manuel Roca headed south where he came to ride on roads which often climb up some ‘gentle’ hills. He needed some hard work out sections to give his body the right stimulus in view of Pecol. Whilst climbing, Manuel Roca had the impression that his legs were in good shape. At almost all time, he pushed a hard gear permitting him to rise to the summit of each climb as fast as he wished. Every now and then the clouds opened up allowing a pale sun to peep through. Manuel Roca forgot his sunglasses and kept hoping that the clouds would shut up the blue spaces. The fickle weather did not hinder his ‘gallop’ amid a breathtaking country-side. He prudentially sipped water from his bottles because he knew there was no way to refill them. Three bottles had to last for the whole time on the saddle. Unlike Italy, where there is at least one fount for each village, in the Mato Rujo area there are not public fountains where cyclists can drink water from. Manuel Roca thinks that this is an enormous default for a country which is worldwide considered modern and civilised. For that reason, he slipped an extra bottle in his back pocket jersey in addition to the two bottles that he normally carries in the two bottle-cages which are on the bicycle frame. With still two hours remaining to do, Manuel Roca ran into his old friend Diana Lombard who was struggling up a slope on her flashy bicycle. He stayed with her for 5 minutes and then off he went to conclude his long-lasting battle with the time. He got into his apartment at 15 minutes past 11. He did not feel exhausted as he could imagine after having spent more than 6 hours on the bike. Rather, he felt good; he had some cereals with milk and fruit to recover and went to lie down in bed. After a few pages of the book he is reading at the moment, he dozed off for half an hour.
Manuel Roca attended University in Mato Rujo. There, he engaged in the study of Nietzsche. Now, he wonders whether the genial philosopher could explain his way of thinking; bring to light the source of it. As fast as night falls upon Mato Rujo, a mixed sense of tiredness and nostalgia turned up in his mind unexpectedly. In a predictable way, last night Manuel Rujo had a dream based on the episode he lived the day before when he was about to fall down. In the oneiric deformation, his bike was riding over a cable which ran across two mountain tops. Underneath the suspended cable hundreds of meters of emptiness that would not permit Manuel Roca any error. Like the famous French high wire artist Philippe Petit that in 1974 high-wire walked between the Twin Towers in New York’s World Trade Centre, Manuel Roca rode the wire back and forth. He spoke to an eagle whose head resembled his friend Frank Lagache who was beside him when Manuel Roca nearly came down. He woke up with a start, in apnoea, soaked wet in his own sweat but relieved to gather that underneath there was not the void but a comfortable bed.

Rio Pequeño

This morning Manuel Roca broke the 200 Km wall riding his bicycle. He left home at 5 minutes past 5 heading for Frank Lagache's where they had agreed to meet up at 6 o'clock. On the way to the appointment, Manuel Roca tested his legs on the Barristerio climb. He thought it was a good idea to wake his system up by means of this steep rise that would force his heart to energetically pump blood throughout it. In fact, the vital fluid throbbed in his veins which expanded to carry the oxygen needed to cope with the burst endeavour. Like muscled pistons his legs pushed the pedals to win over the nasty slope and the gravitational force. As he reached the Barristerio summit, Manuel Roca looked around to admire the lush green country-side before dashing down the other side of the rise; he felt ready for a long and hard day on the saddle. Frank Lagache lives in a small village situated 10 Km east of Mato Rujo. This is called Rio Pequeño after a small stream flowing across the churchyard. The atypical and ‘suffocating’ heat wave which is currently oppressing the region was the first topic engaging the two friends as they aimed for the bumpy part of the county. They cannot afford to dodge some hard training since Pecol looms up ahead of them; coming closer and closer. Keeping a high pace is one way to build stamina and make sure the body receives helpful stimulus that will be beneficial during the race. For that reason, Manuel Roca and Frank Lagache maintain a fast speed from the very start. After a couple of hours, an abrupt rise of the temperature led to drink up more and more water resulting in a very swift consumption of the two bottles Manuel Roca was carrying with him. However, he plans to get a refill at Penkish’s that is waiting for them at 8.30. As they made their way towards Mato Rujo, where Penkish lives, Manuel Roca was faced with a nearly fall whilst descending a narrow and uneven stretch of road. As he rode into a deep pothole his hands lost the hold of the handlebar. For an endless split second Manuel Roca did not have control of his bicycle and at once grew certain to slump on the asphalt. But luckily, as his hands moved loosely forward, he managed to clasp the handlebar tightly by means of his wrists. Somehow, he retrieved command of his ‘vessel’ and contemporaneously a sense of relief went down his spine. Penkish was waiting on the doorstep of his 2 floors house, patiently. He wore a sleeveless top that showed his lean arms up to the shoulders. When he was at hearing-distance Manuel Roca shouted ‘am thirsty, am thirsty’, using a tone of voice resembling a person who had just made a journey across the desert without a drop of water to drink. Penkish broke out laughing and disappeared inside the house with Manuel Roca’s bottles. The three decided to go northwards where the roads are as flat as a pancake and go across barley-cultivated fields. The temperature rose higher and humidity became unbearable. Countless insects filled the air crashing like kamikaze on the sweaty faces of the three riders. Off in the distance was a cathedral that passed by completely unnoticed. Despite these uneasy circumstances, Manuel Roca was feeling stronger and stronger. He had been on the saddle for 6 and a half hours but this did not impede him to launch a long sprint as they approached the last rise of the day. He easily outran his friends that could not cope with the powerful run to the virtual finish line. Manuel Roca got home when midday had already gone by 10 minutes. He checked his speedometer to find out that he had just made longest ride of 2009 to date.
As sharp as a bite, the image of him falling off his bike haunted Manuel Roca during the whole day. Usually his mind is not investigative but in this occasion, footage of what was about to occur this morning shown up in his brain. From tomorrow, his attention during his rides will be double.

Supermercato

Terzo giorno di carico e domani Manuel Roca deve far riposare le gambe a tutti i costi. Sull'ultima salita dell'ultima ripetuta ha fatto fatica ed era contento di andare a casa. Segue nel suo programma verso Pecol, spedito, sicuro e confidente. Un confronto con gli allenamenti dell'anno scorso mostra quanti Km in piu' stia facendo quest'anno Manuel Roca. Vuole davvero migliorare la prestazione dello scorso anno. Ci saranno sicuramente da tenere in considerazione le condizioni metereologiche ma, a parte questo, Manuel Roca e' sicuro del miglioramento.

In fin dei conti, Manuel Roca e' sempre stata una persona priva di spirito competitivo; la competizione non ha quasi mai condizionato le sue scelte. Quando correva da giovane, aveva preso la competizione come un gioco di societa', stare con amici e compagni di squadra. Li aveva capito alcuni concetti come il desiderio di supremazia, la voglia di affermazione, l'umiliazione del piu' debole. Malgrado questo non ha mai smesso di confrontarsi con gli altri, di giocare. Giocare in solitario accanto agli altri, con regole e tempi possibilmente suoi. Troppo comodo? Non sempre, anzi, mai. Da qui l'idea di Pecol, il confrontarsi con gl'altri ma solo per gioco, senza prendersi troppo sul serio. Il desiderio di mettere alla prova i propri limiti, desideri, motivazioni, e cosi via. Manuel Roca era gia' partito con il pensiero. L'occasione. La magnifica occasione. D'altronde, appena comincia a pedalare ritrova il buon umore Manuel Roca. Pedala lungo le strade, alle volte deserte, della regione di Mato Rujo respirando a pieni polmoni il vento che spesso spazza queste terre. Rimane incantato della sinfonia di colori che ogni giorni gli riempie la vista. Ha scelto una forma di vita diversa, piu' libera, piu' meditativa. Piu' in sintonia con la natura. Considera la vita come fosse sempre un grande supermercato dove prendi dieci e paghi tre. O meglio, va gia' bene se riesce a prendere due. Il filosofo che c'e' in lui prende forma. Manuel Roca vive bene del due e considera i restanti otto una mera e inutile illusione, frutto di una miopia generalizzatta e di una impotenza degli individui.

Scrittura

Sono state le tre ore in bici piu' dure sulla strada per Pecol quelle che Manuel Roca ha fatto stamattina. E' uscito di casa appena prima le 5 e mezza ed e' tornato attorno le 8 e mezza. Ripetute in salita e ripetute in pianura e nel mezzo una bella andatura. Le gambe son due pezzi di dolore che si fan sentire ad ogni movimento. Il piano di Manuel Roca e' quello di caricare in questi giorni per avere i benefici di questo lavoro tra tre settimane quando Pecol scorrera' sotto le sue ruote. Anche il peso sta pian piano scendendo anche se sembrano ancora lontani i tempi in cui Manuel Roca si vestiva di scheletro ed in montagna ci saliva senza il minimo sforzo. Crede di scendere ancora un Kg ma forse non piu' di quello.

Il ronzare del silenzio, ali senza piume nelle prime ore dell'alba. Adesso, mentre pensa Manuel Roca a questo ronzio, pensa che forse in quelle ore intuisce il viaggio come una scrittura intravista e differita. Il vero viaggio per lui. Capisce che questa solitudine consapevole, sicura di se', la solitudine accettata, sia gia scrittura; non ancora tradotta dal silenzio ma gia struttura presente. Ha viaggiato. Ha viaggiato molto Manuel Roca. L'atto di scrivere, di trascivere la scrittura d'altri, l'appropiarsi delle parole altrui. Pensa Manuel Roca che la lingua di Mato Rujo sia per lui una densa penombra ancora da decifrare. Eppure vive li da molto tempo. In un paese depresso, si trova a volte isolato in mezzo agli altri. Solo sente la Natura stringersi attorno a lui, farsi corpo al suo fianco.