By Ben Boney M.
Books about bicycling are hard to find. I don’t mean ride guides, maintenance manuals, or ‘how to ’handbooks. I mean good books, books that really capture the spirit of life’s greatest distraction, books with a bit of weight to them, some substance between the covers. One book that does conform to this rare standard is Off the Map: Bicycling Across Siberia, by Mark Jenkins. Check your local bookstore today. Glance over a copy. It’s well crafted, Jenkins tells a good story, and it certainly has plenty of the aforementioned substance between the covers. He opens his account with a series of literary quotations. One of which is attributed to Fyodor Dostoyevsky, nineteenth century Moscow socialite and – I think it would be fair to say – reasonably talented author. Not being overly-familiar with the life and works of this late great individual, I have no idea where the quote comes from. I would not pretend for a moment that I am so well read as to be able to reel off literary catchphrases on demand. The quote simply reads as follows, “Suffering is the origin of consciousness”. Now, I’m sure that nineteenth century Russia was indeed a tough and unforgiving environment in which to mature, and I am sure that a last minute reprieve on death row in 1849 opened old FD’s eyes to the harsh realities of truth, justice, and democracy, but I can’t help feeling that ‘evsky got it wrong on this occasion. Surely, suffering is the origin of a whole bunch of hurt that often ends in unconsciousness and, on occasion, emergency surgery? If it’s the origin of consciousness you’re after, why not just avoid suffering altogether? Stay in with a magazine and a cup of coffee.
The roots of my scepticism regarding this suffering/consciousness equation lie in the mental scars that my own suffering has etched onto my brain. I still suffer as I recall the time that my trusted hardtail bucked me violently clear of both itself and the trail. My careering fall was violently halted by the trees around me, one of which I choose to address face first. In my wisdom I decided that the only true test of my mountain biker mettle was to open my mouth and bite a good old chunk out of its trunk. I recall the satisfying ‘crunch’ that accompanied the marriage of my calcium-enriched extremities and the meaty vegetableness of the tree bark, teeth sinking deep into my timbered assailant. I still spasm as I remember how the ‘crunch’ turned to a ‘cracksnap’ and then the scream of searing pain. Hammer-on-the toes, head-in-a-vice type pain, the kind of pain that requires no metaphor. The kind of pain that is perhaps unsurprising given the enforced fusion of tooth and tree at an estimated speed of twenty, maybe twenty-five miles per hour. I didn’t suffer as I lost consciousness. I didn’t suffer as I slept, but I suffered when I awoke. I suffered at the terrible realization that the painful stumps beneath my top lip were not teeth but gums. I suffered as I picked out the twigs, leaves, and fungi from the butchered void that had once housed my beautiful gnashers. I suffered as I pedalled home, once again the taste of blood in my mouth, cautiously probing the unfamiliar and unwanted gap in my upper set with my tongue, the wind racing across sensitive, exposed nerves, a saddlebag full of broken enamel.
Yes…I know suffering.
In spite of the savage nature of my ‘bicycle suffering’ (quick disclaimer in case those of you unfortunate enough to have actually suffered are offended by my self-centred assertions) I remain distanced from any sense of higher-consciousness. While suffering on my bicycle, not once have I experienced a wheeled transcendence to orgasmic enlightenment, I have never even approached the lofty heights of nirvana. Suffering has usually led to misery, despair, depression and pain.
Suffering has no place in the origin of consciousness. Such higher states of mind are best approached through warmth, comfort, possibly decadence. I’m sure that many of you reading this may disagree. Many of you will feel compelled to write in and express such opinions. “What about the joys of suffering on a long ride? Suffering reminds you that you’re alive”, you will say, or “What about the satisfied elation of a hard session on the turbo?” As a counter argument, and at the risk of provoking an even greater response, I say this; horseshit. If you are enjoying pain you are not suffering, you’re just a pervert. Suffering isn’t a nice thing to do. Now get a grip and hurt like everybody else.
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