Americanization through racing
Racing all over the country has been tremendously valuable to me for developing a deeper understanding and appreciation of the US.
As an immigrant, I will always feel like an outsider.
Despite having lived on American soil on and off for 8 years, I am still not American. Neither in the eyes of the government, nor to those of the inhabitants of this gigantic country. I have ridden countless miles of American asphalt, shopped in its stores, eaten American delicacies (a marshmallow and sweet potato casserole almost rivals a boeuf bourguignon), laughed at all the sitcoms, been to football, baseball, basketball and hockey games, and erased without even realizing it some of my British vocabulary. Yet I am still not American.
People still ask me where I’m from as soon as a word crosses the threshold of my lips. I still gawk at people wearing pyjamas to the store. I never had to wait for the yellow bus in front of my house or learned the state song in school. I cannot laugh with my friends’ reminiscing jokes about the show they all watched in middle school, or sing along to their classic country songs. I still think they placed the decimal point two numbers too far to the right on my medical bills, and I still think 40h is too much to work and that 2 weeks is too little to rest. So no, I’m still not American.
A year ago, I thought I was always going to feel foreign, and never learn enough about this country. But these past 12 months have started to change my mind.
Being part of Life Time Grand Prix meant traveling all around the country (I apologize for my carbon footprint, I’m working on it). I raced and trained in California, Colorado, Wisconsin, Kansas, Nebraska, to name only a few. Before this season, these states only existed in my imagination. I pictured racing Unbound in black and white fields, with a tornado threat hanging over us, thank you very much, Wizard of Oz. I thought we were going to be surrounded by cows and cheese factories in Wisconsin, from all the talk about it being the cheese state. Images of corn fields popped into my mind whenever I thought of Nebraska; (it turns out that one was spot on.)
But as I made my way through these different states, spent time with numerous very generous hosts, I saw these places for myself, and made my own bank of images from them. I discovered new scenery, and the diversity between them all. I experienced first hand, during some very long drives, the vastness and the emptiness of this country. I made the acquaintance of a kaleidoscope of people. I saw all sorts of vehicles, some safer than others (I’m looking at you, man on a mattress in the bed of a truck on the highway). I suffered through some of the suffocating climates. And I got to enjoy the beauty of this land, and the love that many of its inhabitants hold for it.
Here are some thoughts on these new-to-me states:
In California, I saw the Monterey ocean front, and the slow walking tourists admiring the endless palettes of blue the water and the sky offered. Inland, I rode on the hellish hills of Sonoma County, and despite the hardship, still enjoyed the view of the vine clad slopes. The greenery took my heart: I had been thirsty for some leaves after a winter in Arizona. I understood the appeal of living in this state: access to the ocean and the countryside, amazing weather and great produce. The price of property made more sense to me after this trip.
Driving in to Emporia from Kansas City, Tim and I got a taste of what views of the race would be like: fields and trees. I was not looking forward to them, but they were surprisingly pleasant. Riding between farms, few and far between, green either side of us, I got an understanding of why there were so many gravel roads out there: the task of paving them all for the minimal use they get would be monumental and, perhaps, pointless. Experiencing Emporia two days after the race was special too. Where for the last week, the streets had been bustling, an eerie quietness reigned, and gave us an idea of what normal Emporia must have felt like, a large main road downtown, small businesses dotting either side of it. I was learning about the American countryside.
Colorado was everything that I had heard it was. Spending time in Durango, I got to enjoy the quiet roads, and endless trails the surroundings offered. I understood what attracted the many riders I crossed paths with on my rides to move here, and trained on the same roads that many pro cyclists had, and still do. It felt like a busy hub of bike lovers, hours away from the next major city. I went through the drill of riding an hour to access some spectacular rides, which I thought was silly until I rode my bike to some incredible vistas at 9,000ft. I also experienced of the remoteness of Durango, the lack of a diverse food scene, and most of all, the absence of a Trader Joe’s (gasp!). After spending some time in Leadville and in the suburbs of Denver, I was beginning to understand the appeal of living in such a region: it’s full of views for days, riding and skiing areas that still feel wild, and a like-minded population.
Wisconsin was a surprise. I had often heard it being mocked, maybe because of its climate or its cheese production. But the race course winding through the beautiful forest gave me a reason to reconsider my preconceived ideas of this state. Even the three-hour drive between Minneapolis and Cable was very enjoyable, and somewhat scenic.
Beyond learning more about my adoptive country through staying in different places across the country, I got to live a very American activity: road tripping. After spending all summer jumping from one race location to the next, I had to come home to Tucson. So, the day after an aborted attempt at Lauf Gravel Worlds, I packed up the Prius very tight and headed South West for a two day, 19-hour drive. I drove along infinite miles of fields, encountering clusters of houses with rusty granaries here and there. Most of these were desolate looking, with old beat-up cars hanging out in the front yards. The gas stations served as my oases where I encountered truckers and local workers alike. With my fill of gum and coffee darker than the dark side of the moon, I would set off again, counting down the hours slowly.
Green fields turned to vast empty expanses when I reached Texas. I reminded myself that this state is bigger than France. How different it was to be traveling among center pivot fields as far as the eye could see, for hours, instead of on a highway from which you can spot villages and steeples every 5 minutes.
I even got to experience a motel in Santa Rosa, NM. I was happy to report to Tim that I didn’t see any cockroaches nor did I hear anyone get murdered, much to the disappointment of my presumptions. And I left too early the next day to try out the free coffee they were boasting about, and that was, I’m sure, delicious.
Driving back over the NM-AZ border made me smile. I was still 2.5h away but I felt as if I was home. Maybe all this driving was indeed making me American, as I was considering 150 miles to be a short distance left to go!
On that trip back, I drove through 6 states, saw a whole variety of landscapes, and went through what felt like 15 different climates. This single trip had brought me a better appreciation for the size of the country than any book or video ever would.
You need a story to remember something. Previously, I could only use my imagination to create images of these places based on snippets of conversation from others. This year, I created my own narrative through racing, driving, meeting people, having experiences in these different states. And through this, perhaps I am becoming a tiny bit more American.
With you slowly getting a little more American and me slowly getting a little more french we'll both end up somewhere in the middle I think!
‘People still ask me where I’m from as soon as a word crosses the threshold of my lips.’
I felt that one, even after 12 years this happens every time I meet a new person