Best 7 quotes of Tim Krabbe on MyQuotes

Every once in a while someone along the road lets us know how far behind we are. A man shouts: ‘Faster!’ He probably thinks bicycle racing is about going fast.

Nature is an old lady with few friends these days, and those who wish to make use of her charms, she rewards passionately.

Racing is licking your opponent's plate clean before starting on your own

Road racing imitates life, the way it would be without the corruptive influence of civilization. When you see an enemy lying on the ground, what’s your first reaction? To help him to his feet. In road racing, you kick him to death

Als hij helder dacht was er maar één gang van zaken echt aannemelijk. Ze was in een auto gesleurd of gelokt en ontvoerd. Ze zag er sexy uit, maar niet rijk. Misschien had de dader zelfs gezien dat ze bij Rex’ oude auto hoorde, het moest dus om een verkrachting begonnen zijn. Dan werd ze nu verkracht. En daarna? Ze kon vermoord worden. Dan werd haar lijk vroeger of later gevonden. Maar ze zou niet zo stom zijn zich te verzetten. De kans was groot dat ze ergens op een afgelegen plek werd achtergelaten, dan zou ze na verloop van tijd het hotel weten te bereiken. Al met al was dat het meest waarschijnlijk. Het was niet eens gezegd dat de vakantie reddeloos was.

El ciclismo es un deporte de paciencia. “El ciclismo es rebañar el plato de tu rival antes de empezar con el tuyo”.

In interviews with riders that I've read and in conversations that I've had with them, the same thing always comes up: the best part was the suffering. In Amsterdam I once trained with a Canadian rider who was living in Holland. A notorious creampuff: in the sterile art of track racing he was Canadian champion in at least six disciplines, but when it came to toughing it out on the road he didn't have the character. The sky turned black, the water in the ditch rippled, a heavy storm broke loose. The Canadian sat up straight, raised his arms to heaven and shouted: 'Rain! Soak me! Ooh, rain, soak me, make me wet!' How can that be: suffering is suffering, isn't it? In 1910, Milan—San Remo was won by a rider who spent half an hour in a mountain hut, hiding from a snowstorm. Man, did he suffer! In 1919, Brussels—Amiens was won by a rider who rode the last forty kilometers with a flat front tire. Talk about suffering! He arrived at 11.30 at night, with a ninety-minute lead on the only other two riders who finished the race. The day had been like night, trees had whipped back and forth, farmers were blown back into their barns, there were hailstones, bomb craters from the war, crossroads where the gendarmes had run away, and riders had to climb onto one another's shoulders to wipe clean the muddied road signs. Oh, to have been a rider then. Because after the finish all the suffering turns into memories of pleasure, and the greater the suffering, the greater the pleasure. That is Nature's payback to riders for the homage they pay her by suffering. Velvet pillows, safari parks, sunglasses: people have become woolly mice. They still have bodies that can walk for five days and four nights through a desert of snow, without food, but they accept praise for having taken a one-hour bicycle ride. 'Good for you.' Instead of expressing their gratitude for the rain by getting wet, people walk around with umbrellas. Nature is an old lay with few suitors these days, and those who wish to make use of her charms she rewards passionately. That's why there are riders. Suffering you need; literature is baloney.