Secret Cyclist - The Secret Cyclist real life in the professional peloton

The Secret Cyclist is an experienced professional, who rides for a World Tour team at the pinnacle of the sport.

I know that this book is going to spark a guessing game. Trying to identify me is going to be part of the fun, and I get that. As a reader, Id want to know too. Im not hiding my identity as a gimmick, though. Im being mysterious because in my world riders are meant to be seen and not heard. Ive been racing at the top level for various teams for around a decade now, but anyone whos spent even a short amount of time around professional cycling will know that offering an opinion in public is not the done thing if you value your contract. Even an off-the-cuff complaint about bar tape will get you in trouble with the team, because its bound to get them in trouble with a sponsor. When I started out, it wasnt uncommon to see a team re-cover a saddle for a big-name rider who didnt like the sponsors model just to keep everyone happy. They used to re-label tyres as well when they knew the ones they were supposed to use were no good. Im sure they do it still. Our sport exists only because advertising and product promotion allows it to, so a rider giving his two cents about equipment is strictly prohibited. I know guys whove missed training rides because of dodgy groupset batteries and guys who have spent countless hours shivering and soaked through because their clothing sponsor couldnt make a decent jacket, but theyre not allowed to tell you that. What domestiques say is just as if not more tightly controlled than their fitness and nutrition regimes.

I choose to be anonymous because while I want to show what professional cycling is like behind the ropes, I also have my career and my family to think about. Every public aspect of our lives is so tightly controlled that being truly honest is all but impossible in a newspaper interview, never mind a whole book. There are team guidelines for everything we do, and even something as innocent as borrowing the wrong kind of helmet for a mountain-bike ride with friends can land you in hot water if it ends up on social media.

Then theres the people. The race organisers, the agents, the other riders, the team bosses. Or, put another way: My colleagues, friends, employers. It has nothing to do with the omert of the old days, its just common sense. I couldnt show up to a training camp with all of my teammates knowing that I was going to write about everything they did and said, and I wouldnt expect my contract to be renewed if my manager knew I was likely to poke holes in his tactics publicly. If you dont believe me, I suggest you write a warts-and-all blog about your office, and put your name to it. Question how the business is run, make sure you remember to call your boss a moron, and then tell me how it goes.

Its a small world we live in generally, but the cycling world, well, thats just minuscule. Everyone knows everything, and no one forgets anything. When I set out to write this book, I didnt do it with the intention of offending anyone or settling grudges, but I didnt want to be excommunicated either. The truth can be hard to hear, and even when Im only offering opinions, it would be impossible to share my honest thoughts on a lot of things if I knew my name was going to be plastered on the front cover. Cycling has been my life since I was a teenager, and despite all its flaws, I love it. It has been good to me, and Im trying to be good to it, too. The purpose of this book is not to complain for the sake of complaining, or to slam anyone. I just want to show you what its really like to be a professional cyclist, to give you an unfiltered view inside the peloton. Theres a lot to like about the sport, but there are a lot of problems too, and I want to start a conversation about that. Ive read books from the critics and the blindly faithful, and I never felt that I fit into either category. Ive always thought that if you really love something, you have to see it for what it really is. To me, cycling can be glorious and it can be grubby, but quite often, its neither. Its just pedalling for hours and hours for relatively little in return. Its fickle and occasionally foolish, but its also engrossing and exciting, and most importantly, fun. With this book, I want to capture all of that.

When I was little I saw the Tour de France on TV, and that had me hooked. I followed everything after that: the Grand Tours, the Classics, and the Worlds. I couldnt get enough of it. My dad had this collection of books about cycling, some of them were comic books, and that drew me in too, with all of the crazy stories and characters. The whole thing intrigued me. When I was eleven, I got my first bike, and I used to go bike-packing with my dad; even then we always did big days, so it was normal for me to ride a hundred kilometres.

I joined a club around that time too, but it was a little bit too structured for me at the time. I just loved my bike, so I did my own thing for a few years, and then went back when I was fifteen or sixteen. I was also busy playing football and trying new things, so cycling wasnt the only sport I was interested in. And I didnt come from a family with a big bike-racing tradition. We cycled a lot, but for pleasure.

At that age, football was easier, because most of the games were close to home and I could go by myself. Every so often, youd have a big game far from home, but it was less complicated than cycling; you didnt have to drive for hours every weekend to compete. When I eventually started to race, Id go with a friend of mine and his parents my folks only started coming later when I got more serious. Its a big commitment for a parent, especially if you have other kids, because theres so much travel, so I didnt mind because I knew that my mum and dad had things to take care of at home. The more I got into it though, the more they became interested, and eventually my dad was driving me everywhere. It cant have been easy for him, but I think he liked it too. It felt like we were doing something important.

While I was in the junior ranks, I remember buying a new racing bike, and like a lot of riders I know, I promised myself that it would be the last one I ever bought. Talking to other pros, it seems to be a pact that we all make at one stage: you tell yourself that youre going to make it onto a team somewhere and be a professional rider, and get all the stuff for free. I wasnt ready for what was to come, but I wasnt giving up, either.

The training is one thing. If you love your sport and youre driven, its not hard to get used to those demands. Your neighbours see you going out when its lashing rain, or on a mountain bike when its snowing, and they think youre crazy, but thats the job. I dont always like it, but Id rather that than sitting in an office, and even when it looks shitty outside and Im tired, I still love what I do. Ive never hated riding my bike. I dont think anyone whos ever got a paycheque for anything can honestly say that they want to do it 100 per cent of the time, but thats why they pay you. For me, being a professional cyclist is as close as it gets to being paid to have fun.

Theres no one right way to train, either. It bugs me when people talk about training in a really dogmatic way, because were all different. Everyone has to find what works for them, but incorporating something enjoyable into your routine will definitely keep you going longer. Ive had a few teammates who never stopped for coffee when they were out training, for instance, but after riding with me they got into the habit. Those ten or fifteen minutes in the middle doesnt mean Im lazy, it just means that I like espresso.