In 1964 Soichiro Honda said, “Racing improves the breed.” Until about fifteen years ago, I thought the quote was attributed to Enzo Ferrari. It seemed more likely to be associated with something he might have proclaimed.
I’ve spent my adult life, at the bench and away from it, repeating these words. The sport was my gateway drug to bicycles. I wasn’t into cycling culture. It was the arena of competition and its storyline that turned my head.
Over the last generation, my interest in racing has waned, and with it so has my clinging to Mr. Honda’s observation. Too much has changed for me to care. The bicycles are no longer recognizable, nor am I to myself.
I’ve tried to find a middle ground where I can exist without watering down my belief system. A place where I could stand comfortably and not care about the noise coming from my trade and sport. And it’s been a struggle.
I am no longer a bicycle racer. Nor do I follow the sport. None of it has inspired me for many years. I still walk up to the workbench each morning to dance. But the sounds I hear, the ones that move me, are different.
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