Nic Dwa Razy (Never Twice): Return to Gassy Ferry
It’s been cold and wet this last week, but that won’t keep us inside today. The temperature has warmed up a bit and the roads have largely dried out. On the flip side, there is heavy overcast and the winds are 15 mph, gusting to 20 mph out of the west-southwest (that's 24-32 kph). This is far from ideal, but we are determined to ride! The winds, however, are a concern. The original plan was to go to the southwest, but this choice would have put us in direct conflict with the wind, so we decided instead to head to Gassy Ferry. A west-southwest wind would be something we could actually work with for most of the trip. That was the plan anyway.
Kościuszko, my wife, and I arrived in Poland on Wednesday, August 1st. It wasn’t but a couple of days before I turned on the TV to begin my Polish language training with news and cheesy late afternoon serials. I certainly wasn’t able to understand much, but one thing was evident: a famous Polish rock musician and TV celebrity had died on July 28th. Her name was Olga Sipowicz (née Ostrowska), but she was better known simply as Kora. She died of ovarian cancer at the age of 67 (1951-2018).
Over the next week prior to her funeral there were quite a few retrospectives, news stories, video clips, interviews and broadcast samples of her work and about her life. I am, I suppose, fortunate that there was such an important event that had daily coverage for me to track, but it was sad that such a Polish cultural icon was lost.
Naturally, I heard and saw a lot of Kora's work over those days and one song seemed to be repeated more than others. The song was an upbeat early 90s rock tempo and was quite catchy. At the time, of course, I didn't understand a word. Although I’ve heard it a couple of times since, I later found out this song was not considered one of her band's big hits. My most recent encounter with the song was last week in a taxi and I could see on the radio (see on the radio?) the name of the song and performer: Nic Dwa Razy. Kora. More on this later!
Kościuszko and I set off at our normal time, around 9:00, to avoid the heaviest commuter traffic. It had been a week since we were actually outside together and to be on the road again was a wonderful feeling! It is these small pleasures that make life worth living. There was that wind, though. It was a serious affair and we would have considerable work to do, despite our revised plan.
Predictably, the song Nic Dwa Razy, translated as Never Twice, has a more significant history than as a simple rock tune. Kora’s version is an early 1990s musical interpretation of a poem by the Polish poet Wisława Szymborska (1923-2012). Szymborska was an important and fascinating figure, considered to be among the most outstanding of Polish lyricists. Her relatively small body of work was recognized when she was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1996 "for poetry that with ironic precision allows the historical and biological context to come to light in fragments of human reality." (Source.) After working through Nic Dwa Razy and a number of Szymborska's other poems, I'm truly impressed by her ability to address existential questions in a simple and direct way that relates to real life (and death).
But what about the ride? Well, do you know much about sailing? Sailors understand the wind and have terminology for the orientation of their craft in relation to the wind direction. The chart to the left gives you an idea of some of that terminology.
In cycling we don't typically make such fine point distinctions as sailors do, generally talking only about headwinds, tailwinds and crosswinds, but those extra distinctions can actually be useful.
In the case of today's ride we had to get out of Wilanów. That meant heading west and south. Given that the wind was coming out of the west-southwest, we were first close hauled and then close reached. You don't care, do you? OK, the wind slowed us down--a lot--more so when we were close hauled.
Once Kościuszko and I actually got clear of Wilanów and began heading southeast, we had more favorable winds: at the worst, a beam reach, but mostly broad reach and--best of all--running. The beam reach is actually somewhat dangerous to a cyclist. Truly. This is especially the case when winds are gusting. Why? Kościuszko and I are a top heavy pair. He weighs in at about 14 pounds fully loaded and I--well, I'm much more than that. Gusting winds will push Kościuszko sideways rather dramatically, but I don't move so much. This means the top half of the pair must have good balance and the reflexes to respond quickly to changes in the wind, or risk toppling over or being pushed to a place you'd rather not go (oncoming traffic, a ditch, whatever). A beam reach (direct crosswind) is a little stressful, to me.
On the other hand, running with the wind on a bicycle is a marvelous feeling. There is no sound of the wind whatsoever, even if the wind is blowing hard. You are surrounded in a protective cocoon of silence, left with just your own thoughts and the sounds of the bike. Alas, one of those thoughts is usually "I have to come back this way, close hauled or worse still, in irons." Forget that thought about the future difficulties with the wind. Enjoy the moment, running with the wind and the significant boost in speed that it brings!
If running isn't possible and you are out with other cyclists, one trick to manage the wind is called drafting. Drafting is when the cyclist in front of you provides some shelter from the wind. This can decrease--they say--up to 30% of the energy you might otherwise use pedaling by yourself. It is for this reason that in road racing you'll see long snaking lines of cyclists, adjusting themselves to the wind direction to find the best spot to draft behind another cyclist.
Now, though, let's go back for a moment to Szymborska's poem. The best translations of Szymborska's work that I know of are those by Cavanagh and Baranczak. Were my Polish considerably better, I would offer a crude translation of my own instead; there is some poetic license with professional translations that sometimes move the meaning away from the original. Nonetheless, here is the first verse of Nic Dwa Razy in both Polish and English (translated by Cavanagh and Baranczak):
Nic dwa razy się nie zdarza
i nie zdarzy. Z tej przyczyny
zrodziliśmy się bez wprawy
i pomrzemy bez rutyny.
Nothing can ever happen twice.
In consequence, the sorry fact is
that we arrive here improvised
and leave without the chance to practice.
Szymborska expresses such a simple fact about our lives--one we know all too well: we come into life knowing nothing about the entering and we exit knowing nothing about the leaving. In between, Szymborska implies, nothing ever happens twice. This is a particularly good thought for us to remember when we complain about our daily routine being a "rut", or feeling that "everything is the same". Can we seek out, find and embrace the uniqueness of each day?
Sometimes I feel guilty of failing to see the uniqueness in my rides with Kościuszko. I have struggled to find "new places" to go, because, after all, how many times can you go to Gassy Ferry without becoming bored? Well, the truth is that while the destination may be the same, the journey is different each and every day if you are keen enough to sense it. So I shall stay focused on the journey and all that it has to offer!
Today we managed the strong winds all the way to Gassy Ferry. To get to the actual ferry (as opposed to just passing through the nearby village) you have to go up and over the embankment and down the other side on extremely unfriendly, sharp cobbled rocks and bumpy concrete slabs. Usually Kościuszko and I bypass the ferry itself. Today, however, we went all the way down to the water's edge. The ferry was just being loaded: five cars and a pedestrian nun for this trip. They all seemed to know one another and the ferryman waved to me, broadly smiling. I didn't intend on boarding; I smiled and waved back and he closed the gate and raised the ramp. I watched the ferry cross to the halfway point, looked one last time at the flags to check wind direction, mounted up and we headed up and over the embankment. It will be one of the last ferry crossings until next Spring.
Unfortunately for Kościuszko and me, the wind had shifted to northwest and west-northwest. Since home was generally in those directions, we were in for a difficult time if the wind persisted. And it did. We were either close hauled or in irons the entire way back. Being in irons, of course, is just the opposite of running with the wind. The effort required was close to maximum and the noise of the wind was loud and distracting. Unlike sailing vessels, though, we can at least power ourselves against the wind. I suppose that one positive way of looking at the situation is that the extra work required to move against the wind is somewhat parallel to fighting gravity, as if we were climbing. Thus, I gratefully embrace the wind as my opportunity to practice climbing on the flat, Vistula flood plain. We changed gears, I tucked down into the drops, and I did the work, trying to make myself as aerodynamic (skinny) as possible. Kościuszko is already aerodynamically a thing of beauty, I might add.
Nic Dwa Razy is seven stanzas. This post is not a poetry analysis, but humor me with a bit more discussion of this beautiful poem. Leaving for now verses two through five, consider the penultimate verse of Nic Dwa Razy:
Czemu ty się, zła godzino,
z niepotrzebnym mieszasz lękiem?
Jesteś - a więc musisz minąć.
Miniesz - a więc to jest piękne.
Why do we treat the fleeting day
with so much needless fear and sorrow?
It's in its nature not to stay:
Today is always gone tomorrow.
Here is one place where the translation of the last couplet preserves the spirit, but not the literal meaning. Still, the English translation is poignant: "Today is always gone tomorrow." This is, to me, utterly profound in its obvious simplicity. Can we discover the uncommon and transient beauty that underlies everyday life and appreciate what it offers to us? Whatever Szymborska's intent in the first six stanzas, it is in the final stanza where the message is personally brought home to us as readers:
Uśmiechnięci, współobjęci
spróbujemy szukać zgody,
choć różnimy się od siebie
jak dwie krople czystej wody.
With smiles and kisses, we prefer
to seek accord beneath our star,
although we're different (we concur)
just as two drops of water are.
I take away from this a reminder that just as each day is unique, and each event within it, too we are likewise each unique and--if I can extrapolate just a bit--that we ought not to waste our time worrying about fitting into the ideas of what others may think about us, because we are not that, you are not that, you are you. Just as we are each unique, naturally, then, each and every ride is also unique, even if the ultimate destination is the same.
As Kościuszko and I wheeled into the courtyard I knew that this ride was unlike any other, despite all the familiar roads and landmarks. The days of summer were at an end, autumn was upon us and Szymborska finally reminds us: Żaden dzień się nie powtórzy. No day will ever happen again.
Until next time, ride on!
Kościuszko, my wife, and I arrived in Poland on Wednesday, August 1st. It wasn’t but a couple of days before I turned on the TV to begin my Polish language training with news and cheesy late afternoon serials. I certainly wasn’t able to understand much, but one thing was evident: a famous Polish rock musician and TV celebrity had died on July 28th. Her name was Olga Sipowicz (née Ostrowska), but she was better known simply as Kora. She died of ovarian cancer at the age of 67 (1951-2018).
 |
| Kora. Source. |
Naturally, I heard and saw a lot of Kora's work over those days and one song seemed to be repeated more than others. The song was an upbeat early 90s rock tempo and was quite catchy. At the time, of course, I didn't understand a word. Although I’ve heard it a couple of times since, I later found out this song was not considered one of her band's big hits. My most recent encounter with the song was last week in a taxi and I could see on the radio (see on the radio?) the name of the song and performer: Nic Dwa Razy. Kora. More on this later!
Kościuszko and I set off at our normal time, around 9:00, to avoid the heaviest commuter traffic. It had been a week since we were actually outside together and to be on the road again was a wonderful feeling! It is these small pleasures that make life worth living. There was that wind, though. It was a serious affair and we would have considerable work to do, despite our revised plan.
Predictably, the song Nic Dwa Razy, translated as Never Twice, has a more significant history than as a simple rock tune. Kora’s version is an early 1990s musical interpretation of a poem by the Polish poet Wisława Szymborska (1923-2012). Szymborska was an important and fascinating figure, considered to be among the most outstanding of Polish lyricists. Her relatively small body of work was recognized when she was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1996 "for poetry that with ironic precision allows the historical and biological context to come to light in fragments of human reality." (Source.) After working through Nic Dwa Razy and a number of Szymborska's other poems, I'm truly impressed by her ability to address existential questions in a simple and direct way that relates to real life (and death).
 |
| Source. |
In cycling we don't typically make such fine point distinctions as sailors do, generally talking only about headwinds, tailwinds and crosswinds, but those extra distinctions can actually be useful.
In the case of today's ride we had to get out of Wilanów. That meant heading west and south. Given that the wind was coming out of the west-southwest, we were first close hauled and then close reached. You don't care, do you? OK, the wind slowed us down--a lot--more so when we were close hauled.
Once Kościuszko and I actually got clear of Wilanów and began heading southeast, we had more favorable winds: at the worst, a beam reach, but mostly broad reach and--best of all--running. The beam reach is actually somewhat dangerous to a cyclist. Truly. This is especially the case when winds are gusting. Why? Kościuszko and I are a top heavy pair. He weighs in at about 14 pounds fully loaded and I--well, I'm much more than that. Gusting winds will push Kościuszko sideways rather dramatically, but I don't move so much. This means the top half of the pair must have good balance and the reflexes to respond quickly to changes in the wind, or risk toppling over or being pushed to a place you'd rather not go (oncoming traffic, a ditch, whatever). A beam reach (direct crosswind) is a little stressful, to me.
On the other hand, running with the wind on a bicycle is a marvelous feeling. There is no sound of the wind whatsoever, even if the wind is blowing hard. You are surrounded in a protective cocoon of silence, left with just your own thoughts and the sounds of the bike. Alas, one of those thoughts is usually "I have to come back this way, close hauled or worse still, in irons." Forget that thought about the future difficulties with the wind. Enjoy the moment, running with the wind and the significant boost in speed that it brings!
If running isn't possible and you are out with other cyclists, one trick to manage the wind is called drafting. Drafting is when the cyclist in front of you provides some shelter from the wind. This can decrease--they say--up to 30% of the energy you might otherwise use pedaling by yourself. It is for this reason that in road racing you'll see long snaking lines of cyclists, adjusting themselves to the wind direction to find the best spot to draft behind another cyclist.
Now, though, let's go back for a moment to Szymborska's poem. The best translations of Szymborska's work that I know of are those by Cavanagh and Baranczak. Were my Polish considerably better, I would offer a crude translation of my own instead; there is some poetic license with professional translations that sometimes move the meaning away from the original. Nonetheless, here is the first verse of Nic Dwa Razy in both Polish and English (translated by Cavanagh and Baranczak):
 |
| Wisława Szymborska. Source. |
Nic dwa razy się nie zdarza
i nie zdarzy. Z tej przyczyny
zrodziliśmy się bez wprawy
i pomrzemy bez rutyny.
Nothing can ever happen twice.
In consequence, the sorry fact is
that we arrive here improvised
and leave without the chance to practice.
Szymborska expresses such a simple fact about our lives--one we know all too well: we come into life knowing nothing about the entering and we exit knowing nothing about the leaving. In between, Szymborska implies, nothing ever happens twice. This is a particularly good thought for us to remember when we complain about our daily routine being a "rut", or feeling that "everything is the same". Can we seek out, find and embrace the uniqueness of each day?
Sometimes I feel guilty of failing to see the uniqueness in my rides with Kościuszko. I have struggled to find "new places" to go, because, after all, how many times can you go to Gassy Ferry without becoming bored? Well, the truth is that while the destination may be the same, the journey is different each and every day if you are keen enough to sense it. So I shall stay focused on the journey and all that it has to offer!
 |
| Gassy Ferry. Autumn. |
Unfortunately for Kościuszko and me, the wind had shifted to northwest and west-northwest. Since home was generally in those directions, we were in for a difficult time if the wind persisted. And it did. We were either close hauled or in irons the entire way back. Being in irons, of course, is just the opposite of running with the wind. The effort required was close to maximum and the noise of the wind was loud and distracting. Unlike sailing vessels, though, we can at least power ourselves against the wind. I suppose that one positive way of looking at the situation is that the extra work required to move against the wind is somewhat parallel to fighting gravity, as if we were climbing. Thus, I gratefully embrace the wind as my opportunity to practice climbing on the flat, Vistula flood plain. We changed gears, I tucked down into the drops, and I did the work, trying to make myself as aerodynamic (skinny) as possible. Kościuszko is already aerodynamically a thing of beauty, I might add.
Nic Dwa Razy is seven stanzas. This post is not a poetry analysis, but humor me with a bit more discussion of this beautiful poem. Leaving for now verses two through five, consider the penultimate verse of Nic Dwa Razy:
Czemu ty się, zła godzino,
z niepotrzebnym mieszasz lękiem?
Jesteś - a więc musisz minąć.
Miniesz - a więc to jest piękne.
Why do we treat the fleeting day
with so much needless fear and sorrow?
It's in its nature not to stay:
Today is always gone tomorrow.
Here is one place where the translation of the last couplet preserves the spirit, but not the literal meaning. Still, the English translation is poignant: "Today is always gone tomorrow." This is, to me, utterly profound in its obvious simplicity. Can we discover the uncommon and transient beauty that underlies everyday life and appreciate what it offers to us? Whatever Szymborska's intent in the first six stanzas, it is in the final stanza where the message is personally brought home to us as readers:
Uśmiechnięci, współobjęci
spróbujemy szukać zgody,
choć różnimy się od siebie
jak dwie krople czystej wody.
With smiles and kisses, we prefer
to seek accord beneath our star,
although we're different (we concur)
just as two drops of water are.
I take away from this a reminder that just as each day is unique, and each event within it, too we are likewise each unique and--if I can extrapolate just a bit--that we ought not to waste our time worrying about fitting into the ideas of what others may think about us, because we are not that, you are not that, you are you. Just as we are each unique, naturally, then, each and every ride is also unique, even if the ultimate destination is the same.
As Kościuszko and I wheeled into the courtyard I knew that this ride was unlike any other, despite all the familiar roads and landmarks. The days of summer were at an end, autumn was upon us and Szymborska finally reminds us: Żaden dzień się nie powtórzy. No day will ever happen again.
Until next time, ride on!
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