Two years on from my first outing to the so-called Punishment Tour, would I once again find what I was looking for?
Jonny Long, Cor Vos, lead photo illustration by Jonny Long
Two years ago, during my first visit to the Tour of Guangxi, an older Dutch journalist declared in a slightly pompous manner, “these are our riches.” As he said this, he waved his wine glass around at our surroundings in downtown Guilin, where we were sat at a restaurant eating various barbecued meats and drinking low-percentage beers paid for by Gree, the air-conditioning company that was the previous title sponsor of the race.
I nevertheless found myself agreeing with his grandiose statement. That week had been quite the experience. These “riches” he was referring to were these unique experiences available to few others. Having also ticked off Norway, Oman and Ireland’s Rás from my obscure cycling bucket list, what promise did a return to Guangxi hold?
Revolutions in Guangxi: A week inside a China cycling adventure
When you go to a race like this one, there are much more interesting things going on than bike racing. And maybe that’s the point.
At the end of another cycling season, day after day spent reading about riders who will be taking things day-by-day, some grander context and reason why is required. Attempting to ascribe some meaning to cyclists riding their bikes as fast as possible is a muscle that needs regular exercise, regardless of whether that attempt is successful or not.
Seven years since plunging fully into this cycling world, my eyes are now wide open and somewhat bleary to the reality of the professional peloton. Known bastards equal the known good guys, while the main rump of the bunch exists in silent anonymity, keeping their interview quotes veiled in monotony and struggling to achieve a result that will turn heads. The reality of the business end of things and sporadic dark mutterings of unseemly goings-on test the resolve on the concurrent beauty that persists in the sport. On one side you have victory, redemption, the natural world, and meritocracy. The other hosts duplicity, suffering, pain, apathy, and alienation.
Bike races contain all of the above but at Guangxi the latter side is pulled more into focus. It’s at the gritty end of the spectrum. Team buses are nowhere to be found and instead of hiding behind tinted windows the riders crouch on stools beneath branded marquees pulling on jerseys and attaching race radios, while dead-eyed soigneurs slather the skinny boys in suncream and locals look on in bemusement.
Few are here willingly; most are sent because they’ve done something to displease team management, including deciding to leave said team. Those are riders you can afford to piss off with a long-haul flight at the end of an already long season, as well as riders you’ve decided to not give a new contract to. Others are here because their team has deemed them expendable; they’re searching for a last result that might stave off an unwanted retirement.
Last kilometer: out of contract and retiring riders face an end far from home
Every pro must retire someday, but whether they choose the circumstances of that departure is far less certain.
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