Markus Bohler, In Memoriam

Last Sunday was a beautiful, sunny day - one of many we've had during this warmer-than-normal March.  It promised a spectacular day for racing, but I was home sick, missing my first Bethel race in years.

That afternoon, I got the first news that something had gone very wrong on this otherwise perfect day.  In the race I'd missed, there'd been a crash and the race was neutralized.  Then cancelled.  One guy was rushed off to the hospital, somebody I didn't know.  But we racers assume the risks of the occasional crash, the occasional broken bone or bike.  So I prayed and hoped that the guys involved in the crash would heal up quickly and get back to racing soon, even if it meant having to listen to the same stories that all of us who've taken a tumble too often tell.  But I wasn't there.  I didn't see what happened.  Those that were, and did, prayed and hoped harder than I could've imagined necessary.

As more reports came in, it became quickly clear that this crash was different.  That the guy who'd been rushed to the hospital was in really bad shape, that he might be there for a while.  Then the speculation started that he actually might not make it.  Please God, No!  That's not the way it's supposed to happen.  Sure, he can be battered & bruised & broken.  But that's it - that's all we agree to when we clip in.  We don't agree to worse.  We can't possibly imagine it.

And then, Monday morning, the worst news of all.  Markus Bohler left us.  Ever since Monday morning - and for many, since Sunday afternoon - it's been hard for a lot of us to get on our bikes.  To do what we love to do.  We take a little more time to be with our families rather than be out riding.  If you're at all like me, you've been in a kind of fog for the last four days.  The feeling of having the wind knocked out of me isn't due only to the severe cold I'm recovering from.

I didn't have the privilege of knowing Markus personally, but I know that I often raced with him.  He was part of our family in the sense that we bike racers are a very close-knit community, and the thoughts and words pouring in from all over the country in tribute to him are evidence that he was one of our best.  Knowing how his passing has affected me, and the darkness it's caused me to confront, I cannot possibly imagine the pain, the heartache and the questioning of those closest to him or anyone that was racing with him that day.  My prayers for them, as well as for Markus' family, continue.

It's cliche almost to the point of being meaningless to say "Life is precious" - "Live each day to its fullest."  We've become experts at denying life's inevitable end to the point such reminders are as common as they are disregarded.  How many of us truly live as if each day could be our last?  You can't truly live if you're always in the shadow of death, but you can't appreciate how blessed life is if you never confront that darkness.  Events like this are cold reminders that we cannot take life for granted. 

My main way of "coping" with such thoughts is to move on and forget as quickly as possible.  But I can't.  Not this time.  The death of a fellow racer, doing nothing wrong, doing what we all love doing, on a track known for its safety, makes no sense at all.  You can't just move on and forget - you have to stop and lift the veil from your own mortality, consider how you spend the precious days you've been blessed with, and what there may be waiting for us on the other side of this life.

Some may be tempted to say "what a waste" and be angry at what happened.  Depending on your perspective, the fact Markus died doing what he loved is either the highest privilege or the cruellest irony.  But even in the middle of this tragedy there are glimmers of consolation: the overwhelming outpouring of love and support of friends, the generosity and kindness of strangers, the eradication of the complacency (even if only temporarily) that life and loved ones can ever be taken for granted.

One of life's paradoxes is that we sometimes learn the most about a person after they've left us, from the people who knew him best.  Their testimony is evidence of a life lived, whether well or poorly.  Everything I've heard about Markus is that he lived his life well, he was highly respected by all who knew him, and could often be seen encouraging or helping others, whether on the track or off.  His legacy is one we could all be proud to call our own and we owe a debt of gratitude to his family for sharing him with us.

There are a number of ways we can offer some comfort to them and help preserve the memory of our friend and fellow-racer.  You can read about one such effort here.  There will also be a memorial service/ride at the track this Sunday morning and you can learn more about that here.

Hopefully, as we draw together as a family and allow healing to take place, we'll again be able to ride and race, doing what we love to do, treating each and every day as the gift that it is.  I can't think of a better way to honor Markus' memory.

Comments

[Jeffrey Weaver]

Well said, we are all a bit shaken, not to mention our spouses and children are even more questioning of this crazy sport we love. Godspeed Markus.

[Eric Paulson]

Thank you for this well written tribute to a great friend, mentor and fellow cyclist. Markus will be deeply missed.

[Gerald Berliner]

A very touching tribute. I was there that day and was involved, along with several other riders, in a very bad crash in the first race of the day, the Cat 5. One girl broke an arm, I was left with bad cuts and road rash as were a number of others. However, I/we walked away from ours, Markus unfortunately didn't. Knowing I survived mine and he didn't has left me with very a profound sense of sadness and confusion and once again highlights the ever present fragility of life and ones own mortality. Like you I did not know Markus, but thinking of him has made me even more resolute to keep riding, because for some reason, I have been allowed to. On our club ride on Sunday, we are going to find a safe place to stop around 1;30, which was supposed to be the time his crash happened and observe a minutes silence in his name. I would just like to finish by offering my deepest sympathy and condolences to all who personally knew Markus, his family and race team Pawling Cycle and Sport

[Robert Kelley]

Thank you for the spot on article.

[Robdamanii]

Very succinct and sadly touching. It's a shame that we don't think of our mortality until something like this comes along.

My condolences go out to Markus's family, friends and teammates.

[TimL]

Markus was one of my best friends. If what happened to him had happened to one of your friends, I wish I could have had the insight to write what you did. Thank you.

[ChrisB.]

Great piece. I particularly found truth in this statement: "You can't appreciate how blessed life is if you never confront that darkness."

The undeniable truth of life is that the cup is in essence, already broken. Or at least, there is no doubt that cup will someday break.

Markus' death is heartbreaking. And while I see no "beauty" in dying doing something you love. I do see the beauty in living each moment. I don't think we should each day like it is our last . . . but perhaps we should live it like it is our first. We should aim to be awake and alive in each moment; knowing that our experience (here on Earth, anyway) is finite.

[Karine Langley]

What a beautiful tribute!

[Velosopher]

My thoughts are with you and your community, Chris.

[A Facebook User]

I rode with Markus in 2005-6, when he was in Minnesota. My riding with him was mainly social. He will always be known for his always upbeat attitude (and his talking about his horses),