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THE RISING SUN: WHY I'M RACING BIKES IN JAPAN
Lee Rodgers
March 17, 2009
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Giant pro Motoshi Kadota (L), myself (C) and Daigo Idou (R)
Lee Rogers is a 37-year old English racer living in Japan. This year he will be racing the Japanese Pro/Am circuit for the Esperance-Stage team. Throughout the season Lee will be sharing his adventures as he races against the pros in the land of rising sun.
I`m 37 years old. I don`t feel old. And it`s not that old! But… am I just too old? Should I put those youthful dreams away, go into the light without a struggle, without one last hurrah? Close the door on that dark cupboard of what ifs?
No. No way. Absolutely, categorically, nay! irrefutably - Not A Chance!
I`m fortunate enough to have been presented with a rather wonderful, magical opportunity, and I intend to seize it with both my grubby little hands much like an obese American might snatch at a the last glistening spare rib on the buffet table. I intend to hang in there and fight like a demon for every mile per hour, for every single placing, no matter how slender the slice of tire rubber that carries me over ahead of the next guy, no matter how far down the pack that might be. They`re going to have to drag me off kicking and screaming, frothing at the gums, the contents of my colostomy bag leaking out down my shaved and veiny legs. For this, this is the sporting challenge of my life. My North Pole. My Everest. And if ever I lacked the motivation to get out and train, when the clouds threaten menacingly, or the beer looks particularly coy and coquettish sat there on its little shelf in the fridge, well, now I`ve got bucketloads of the stuff.
 The Shimano Skil team with 2008 Challenge Series winner Tomoya Kano in the middle
Because this year, I`m racing with The Big Boys.
Racing with the pros.
With some guys who have raced Paris-Roubaix and Ghent-Wevelgem.
With the Champion of Japan no less!
It`s going to be hard, and it`s going to hurt, and I cannot wait.
To cut a long and geographically meandering story not too short, I first raced many a year ago, when I was a brazen 16 year old. I had a fairly successful two years of racing, winning a few races and placing well in others, getting an invite to compete in the Junior Tour of Ireland even – but I gave it all up, one cold and windy day. I just quit. Made up my mind and packed it in. I was tired of the effort, sick of the training, weary of the North of England winters, and not a little disillusioned by the pharmaceutical scandals engulfing many of the pros I`d idolized. I also came to realize that I just didn`t have the single-minded determination to have a real crack at it – the world was calling me, crooning away in its smoke-filled spotlight, its siren song beckoning me towards the rocks with promises of far away adventures, of late nights and dodgy bars, of even dodgier… well, perhaps you get the picture. It all seemed impossible to reconcile with the monk-like existence of the serious cyclist.
There was also, of course, the question of whether I would ever be truly good enough to make it. All that effort, for so much heartache. Maybe that stopped me more than anything, truth be told. Whatever the reasons, I just stopped. From that day, I was no longer a cyclist. It was as simple as that.
Then, one fine spring morning, after many years of relative inactivity and a little bit too much experience under my oversized belt for anyone`s good, I walked into a bike shop, completely on a whim, and found myself ten minutes later the slightly bemused owner of a cheap but half-decent racing bike. And after the very first ride I fell in love all over again. It was a wonderful, beautiful and chastising experience, to remember what I had loved all those years ago. Yet I knew that I had needed all that time away to rekindle my love for the bike, that it had been necessary for me to walk away, to spurn the sport that I`d adored so much. In the end though, despite my wanderings, the unabashed unfaithfulness of it all, she welcomed me back with open arms. That is one of the wonders of this machine, the humble bicicletta – it`s capacity for forgiveness!
Anyway, after another two years of messing around and getting out maybe two or three days a week, I started training seriously last year, and entered my first real race in May. Much to my surprise, I came 2nd. I did another, and I came 1st, then another, 4th, another, 1st, and on it went. Suddenly, six weeks ago, I got a phone call from the team Esperance-Stage, one of the top amateur teams in Japan and one of only three amateur teams taking part in this year`s otherwise all-pro Japan Challenge Tour, a UCI-sanctioned 12 race series, inviting me to join them.
So, here I am, training hard and waiting for the season to start not much different than a little kid waiting for the candy store to open, the dollar bill in his sweaty palm disintegrating by the second. I`m eager, I`m nervous – heck, I`m even a little tingly – and, I`m not ashamed to admit, there`s a bit of fear in there too. I have no idea if I can cut it at this level. It`s a whole new world. It`s certainly a lot more suffering, no two ways about that. But I have to do it, I have to see if I can cut it. I have to know if I can meet my own expectations – and that`s the scary part. Place the bar too high, and you set yourself up for disappointment. But hey, it won`t kill me – right? The way I look at it, if you don`t challenge yourself, you stop living. As my grandmother was fond of saying, we are a long time dead. She should know, cos she`s, er, well… dead. But then she also said never trust a Swede in a raincoat, so there you go…
Whatever happens – que sera, sera, as the morbidly hopeless often say – I`m going to have as much fun as I possibly can. And one other thing`s for sure… there`ll be no one more excited than me on that start line!
Roll on!
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