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Drinking and cycling, pleasure and pain, both lead to complete bliss
By Justin Pirzadeh
Posted: Sep 17, 2006
I read two short books, one encompassing the sensations of great pleasure on the body, and the other
encompassing the sensations of great pain. I read these books at first unaware of the juxtapositions
that existed within them and completely oblivious to the experiment I was about to undertake. The first
book, Ray Johnson’s The Good Life Guide to Enjoying Wine, is an introduction to wine drinking as well
as the culture that accompanies it. The second book, Tim Krabbé’s The Rider, is a hundred fifty page
sprint through a grueling hundred fifty kilometer race.
At first glance, it would seem like an impossible task to reach a correlation between these two
divergent subjects. Yet, when approached from a purely diagnostic perspective, wine drinking and
cycling both reveal themselves to affect us in much the same way; they force the separation of mind
and body, enabling the mind to drive us to sensual extremes our body could never reach alone. The
only differences lie in the vehicles used by each; wine drinking arouses pleasure while cycling induces
pain to reach the common end of complete bliss.
I started with Ray Johnson’s book and allowed the world of wine to shortly after engulf my thoughts and
my palate. A quick glance through the book portends to the reader that Johnson is reaching out to an
older, snobbier crowd, as certain chapters are replete with tips on glassware, decanters, and giving
the gift of wine, but all these suspicious are dispelled in the introduction and first chapter.
In the final passage of the introduction, Johnson states, “This guide will prove sophisticated wine
lovers and newcomers alike that the key to enjoying great wines are already in their mouths, and that
wine tasking is its own reward on the path of the Good Life.” By making this declaration, Johnson is
saying that he wishes to help the reader enjoy wine rather than manipulate their tastes and favorites to
a predicated norm.
The reader immediately gets this sense from the first chapter entitles “Learning What You Like.”
Rather than enlighten his reader about established labels and pricy vintages, Johnson encourages the
reader to get to know their own favorites by tasting a wide range of wines. The reader is instructed to
keep a journal and record tastes, aromas, and all other feelings and sensations that the wine conjures
up. He stresses that there are no right answers in this process, as each person has a unique
experience with each wine.
The following chapters deal increasingly with the culture of wine and its influence on the experience as
a whole. Johnson stresses the importance of the right company, the right settings and the right tools.
As I myself began to follow the steps outlined in his book, I became aware that the pleasures of wine
drinking are as much a product of the proper environment as they are of good wine. For example, if I
were to sit alone in my kitchen and drink rare vintage wine out of a paper cup, the stimulation and
pleasure from the wine would seem dull compared the right environment and a cheap bottle. In the
right environment, the mind heightens every sensation from the aroma of the wine to feeling of the
glassware against your fingers; in essence the mind drives the body to a state of ecstasy before a
single sip of wine is ever taken. Similarly, Cycling can have this same effect on the body and mind.
Krappé’s The Rider can be used as a prism to look at the many facets of cycling, but the book
maintains racing's mysterious allure, for as soon as your eyes begin to understand the objects before
them, Krappé removes the prism, making the reader inquisitive of everything they just saw. The book
begins slowly as Krappé starts his narrative about the 137 kilometer race he is about to begin. The
race is the Tour de Monte Aigoual, and Krappé quickly introduces it as “the sweetest, toughest race of
the season.”
The pace of the book is slow as Krappé prepares for the race and checks all his gear, then without a
moment's notice the race begins and the reader is left fumbling to catch up with the peloton. The
reader becomes transfixed in each passing moment as Krappé climbs hills and descends them, the
whole time giving insight into his thoughts and observations.
When he climbs the pace of the book slows, and he describes the motion of the hills, the flowers that
cloth them, and the sky that can’t seem to decide how to illuminate them; momentarily highlighting
their brilliance with slivers of light, then dulling their colors with clouds of gray. When Krappé flies down
hills at nauseating speeds, the discomfort gets to both Krappé and the reader, making complete
thoughts a luxury of the bystander. During the downhill sections, the words on the page blurred due to
the speed I was reading at, and Krappé causes this to happen by using fragmented speech. For
example, he begins to describe a weather beaten house he passes, but his description is cut off by an
upcoming curve and the only objects that seem solidly defined are the rock wall to his left and the ditch
to his right, thus justifying his discomfort, and disjointed images.
As the book wore on, I began to realize that Krappé’s mind is what gets him through the race rather
than his body. Krappé later confirms this idea by confessing that his body and mind shake hands
before a race and part ways. His body is there for his mind to manipulate and push and if his mind
where to crack his body would follow.
Krappé admits he is not one of the strongest racers and he is easily one of the oldest, but he derives
his strength from his desire to push himself. Pain breaks down every racer to nothing during cycling
and can even bring him to near death, but in that moment the strongest racers reach a point of clarity
where they decide to win the race because they know, in theory, they shouldn’t. It is that mental clarity
and knowledge of mental strength that gives the rider the ability to experience intense feelings of
pleasure during excruciating moments of pain, and it is what keeps him striving to break records.
The cyclist and the wine drinker may be two completely different species, but at there core they are both
obsessed with giving their minds complete control over their bodies, in an effort to reach a moment of
mental ecstasy, or clarity, that then flows throughout their body in the form of pleasure.
### ### ###
Justin Pirzadeh is a Global Affairs Intern, The Atlantic Affairs.
By Justin Pirzadeh
Posted: Sep 17, 2006
I read two short books, one encompassing the sensations of great pleasure on the body, and the other
encompassing the sensations of great pain. I read these books at first unaware of the juxtapositions
that existed within them and completely oblivious to the experiment I was about to undertake. The first
book, Ray Johnson’s The Good Life Guide to Enjoying Wine, is an introduction to wine drinking as well
as the culture that accompanies it. The second book, Tim Krabbé’s The Rider, is a hundred fifty page
sprint through a grueling hundred fifty kilometer race.
At first glance, it would seem like an impossible task to reach a correlation between these two
divergent subjects. Yet, when approached from a purely diagnostic perspective, wine drinking and
cycling both reveal themselves to affect us in much the same way; they force the separation of mind
and body, enabling the mind to drive us to sensual extremes our body could never reach alone. The
only differences lie in the vehicles used by each; wine drinking arouses pleasure while cycling induces
pain to reach the common end of complete bliss.
I started with Ray Johnson’s book and allowed the world of wine to shortly after engulf my thoughts and
my palate. A quick glance through the book portends to the reader that Johnson is reaching out to an
older, snobbier crowd, as certain chapters are replete with tips on glassware, decanters, and giving
the gift of wine, but all these suspicious are dispelled in the introduction and first chapter.
In the final passage of the introduction, Johnson states, “This guide will prove sophisticated wine
lovers and newcomers alike that the key to enjoying great wines are already in their mouths, and that
wine tasking is its own reward on the path of the Good Life.” By making this declaration, Johnson is
saying that he wishes to help the reader enjoy wine rather than manipulate their tastes and favorites to
a predicated norm.
The reader immediately gets this sense from the first chapter entitles “Learning What You Like.”
Rather than enlighten his reader about established labels and pricy vintages, Johnson encourages the
reader to get to know their own favorites by tasting a wide range of wines. The reader is instructed to
keep a journal and record tastes, aromas, and all other feelings and sensations that the wine conjures
up. He stresses that there are no right answers in this process, as each person has a unique
experience with each wine.
The following chapters deal increasingly with the culture of wine and its influence on the experience as
a whole. Johnson stresses the importance of the right company, the right settings and the right tools.
As I myself began to follow the steps outlined in his book, I became aware that the pleasures of wine
drinking are as much a product of the proper environment as they are of good wine. For example, if I
were to sit alone in my kitchen and drink rare vintage wine out of a paper cup, the stimulation and
pleasure from the wine would seem dull compared the right environment and a cheap bottle. In the
right environment, the mind heightens every sensation from the aroma of the wine to feeling of the
glassware against your fingers; in essence the mind drives the body to a state of ecstasy before a
single sip of wine is ever taken. Similarly, Cycling can have this same effect on the body and mind.
Krappé’s The Rider can be used as a prism to look at the many facets of cycling, but the book
maintains racing's mysterious allure, for as soon as your eyes begin to understand the objects before
them, Krappé removes the prism, making the reader inquisitive of everything they just saw. The book
begins slowly as Krappé starts his narrative about the 137 kilometer race he is about to begin. The
race is the Tour de Monte Aigoual, and Krappé quickly introduces it as “the sweetest, toughest race of
the season.”
The pace of the book is slow as Krappé prepares for the race and checks all his gear, then without a
moment's notice the race begins and the reader is left fumbling to catch up with the peloton. The
reader becomes transfixed in each passing moment as Krappé climbs hills and descends them, the
whole time giving insight into his thoughts and observations.
When he climbs the pace of the book slows, and he describes the motion of the hills, the flowers that
cloth them, and the sky that can’t seem to decide how to illuminate them; momentarily highlighting
their brilliance with slivers of light, then dulling their colors with clouds of gray. When Krappé flies down
hills at nauseating speeds, the discomfort gets to both Krappé and the reader, making complete
thoughts a luxury of the bystander. During the downhill sections, the words on the page blurred due to
the speed I was reading at, and Krappé causes this to happen by using fragmented speech. For
example, he begins to describe a weather beaten house he passes, but his description is cut off by an
upcoming curve and the only objects that seem solidly defined are the rock wall to his left and the ditch
to his right, thus justifying his discomfort, and disjointed images.
As the book wore on, I began to realize that Krappé’s mind is what gets him through the race rather
than his body. Krappé later confirms this idea by confessing that his body and mind shake hands
before a race and part ways. His body is there for his mind to manipulate and push and if his mind
where to crack his body would follow.
Krappé admits he is not one of the strongest racers and he is easily one of the oldest, but he derives
his strength from his desire to push himself. Pain breaks down every racer to nothing during cycling
and can even bring him to near death, but in that moment the strongest racers reach a point of clarity
where they decide to win the race because they know, in theory, they shouldn’t. It is that mental clarity
and knowledge of mental strength that gives the rider the ability to experience intense feelings of
pleasure during excruciating moments of pain, and it is what keeps him striving to break records.
The cyclist and the wine drinker may be two completely different species, but at there core they are both
obsessed with giving their minds complete control over their bodies, in an effort to reach a moment of
mental ecstasy, or clarity, that then flows throughout their body in the form of pleasure.
### ### ###
Justin Pirzadeh is a Global Affairs Intern, The Atlantic Affairs.
| (c) 2006 New Criterion Foundation, London |
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