the problem with superheroes

Warning. This is a whole lot of froth about cyclocross. I understand if cyclocross seems alien or dumb to you. If you feel that way, though, you might want to skip this read. Because, cyclocross.

Superheroes have a rough time in the public eye. Follow the traditional DC/Marvel superhero narrative, and you get these beings gifted with enormous powers but also burdened with the moral responsibility of taking care of a world filled with numpty, shambolic, weakling mortals. The superhero is so enormously powerful that he or she has to disguise him or herself as one of the numpty, shambolic, weakling mortals during the non-crisis times, because he or she would otherwise be perceived as an existential threat, thanks to all that power.

When the killer asteroid or technologically abetted supervillain inevitably comes along to wreak havoc, it naturally falls on the superhero to save the day. And, to add tension to the whole story arc, the superhero, of course, has some easily exploitable Achilles heel. Ultimately, though, the superhero defeats the supervillain. But it’s always razor close. That’s how you keep the story lively. Capes and masks be damned, it’s all about how our superhero overcomes a personal existential threat in order to save us lesser beings from our species-wide existential threat. Whether we’re talking about Superman and his Kryptonite problem and questionable taste in capes or Batman with his unresolved daddy issues and total reliance on gadgetry (and questionable taste in capes), we know that ultimately our superheroes will Do The Right Thing And Prevail.

Take away the easily exploitable Achilles heel, though, or maybe defuse the compulsive need to save humankind, then what are we left with? I would posit that in this case, our superheroes then become indistinguishable from any other Unstoppable Killing Machine. Queue up all those superhero-gone-bad multiverse based Marvel franchise summer blockbusters if you harbor any doubt as to whether that vein has been thoroughly mined. Killing Machine’s don’t really care much for story arcs or morality plays. They just want to eat the world. The Killing Machine manifesto is probably best summed up by this heartwarming line from the movie Conan The Barbarian, when Conan is asked “what is best in life”:

“To crush your enemies, to see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentation of the women.”

Personally, I don’t see anything wrong with the open steppe, a fleet horse, falcons at my wrist, or the wind in my hair. Obviously I don’t know shit about barbarianing…

The 2025/2026 European cyclocross season kicked off properly back in October, and between then and this weekend had all the markings of a season for the ages; hard courses, unpredictable weather, and a fistful of riders all either solidly established as legitimate podium journeymen or rising up into their newfound strength and maturity. On any given course, there would be Michael Vanthournehout, Niels Vandeputte, Joris Niewenhuis, Laurens Sweeck and a solid quintet of other riders putting the wood to each other in exciting, unpredictable, shoulder banging, old fashioned mud-brawls. Toon Aerts had remarkably come back from a doping suspension to win redemption at the European Championships. Thibau Nys, the anointed heir apparent, was showing flashes of brilliance as well as sporadic meltdowns, winning a World Cup one week by a huge margin, pounding his handlebars in frustration in between crashes and mechanicals the next. It was exciting racing to watch.

Until this weekend, when the Killing Machine returned.

To be fair, the Killing Machine otherwise known as Mathieu Van Der Poel actually returned a week earlier, but was at that time still pretending to be a superhero as he eked out a hard fought victory over the brilliant version of Thibau Nys. Now, one week later, at the proper start of the kerstperiode – a block of intense racing that fills up the cold Belgian and Dutch days between the winter solstice and the new year – it would appear that the killing machine was merely clearing its throat the week prior.

Yep, this was a good one.

Belgium and Holland are the traditional powerhouses of cyclocross. There are times when The Low Countries tolerate interlopers, allowing Swiss or Italian or Slovakian or French or Spanish, or hell, even occasional British or American racers to snag brief moments of mud-crusted glory. But really, it’s about the Belgians. And the Dutch. And there is nobody more quintessentially, perfectly Dutch than MVDP. One of the most talented road racers in the world, broad of shoulder, square of jaw, the gifted genetic beneficiary of the combined bloodlines of Adri Van Der Poel and Corinne Poulidor (daughter of the sanctified and simultaneously cursed Raymond Poulidor), MVDP is, as far as cyclocross goes, an unstoppable force. Juggernaut, defined.

His palmares deserve a paragraph of their own. Let’s recap: World Cyclocross Champion in 2015, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2023, 2024, and 2025. European Cyclocross Champion, 2017, 2018, 2019. Dutch Cyclocross Champion 2015-2020 on the trot, before he got bored and decided not to bother anymore. 45 individual Cyclocross World Cup wins. Four overall Superprestige series wins. As a junior, back in 2013, he entered 30 ‘cross races and won every single one. Then capped that off with the Junior World Championship title in Kentucky of that year. That picture up at the top of this thing is one that Colin Meagher snapped of him at those Louisville World Champs, back before we all found out he was from the planet Krypton. He then moved into the U-23’s and similarly decimated those ranks. By 2017 he was becoming close to unstoppable at cyclocross, unless Wout Van Aert was around to keep him honest. This in addition to becoming a powerhouse spring classics racer on the road, and also racking up 2nd overall in the 2018 MTB World Cup and third at the MTB World Championships that year. Jeee-zus.

A 25 second gap in one lap. Boom. Done.

At the World Cup in Antwerp on Saturday, Conan MVDP showed up on cue and made the best cyclocross racers in the world look like amateurs. The week before, on a punishing and technical course at Namur, in his first appearance for the season, he had appeared human; slipping wheels on the cobbled climbs, tucking the front in greasy corners, and seeming for all the world as bedeviled as everyone else in the tricky conditions. That all changed in the power-sucking sand of Antwerp this Saturday, where he parlayed a third row start into the lead by the end of the first lap, checked the status of the field, then checked clean out. From the second lap on, he built enough of a gap that he looked for all the world like he was on a training ride while the rest of the field, including MVDP’s only known Kryptonite, Wout Van Aert, sweated like plough horses as they disappeared behind him.

On Sunday, in case anyone had misread the playbook the day before, and with the benefit of a front row start and two trade teammates at the peak of their form, he did it again. This time, on another notoriously sandy course in Koksijde, MVDP waited until somewhere in the 4th of seven laps before lighting the fuse for good. There was a warning surge during the second lap, when he stretched the field out hard and built close to a ten second cushion before sitting back in and letting his teammates control the pace. But then, same as on Saturday, when he went for good, he made the rest of the field look like juniors, at times stretching his lead out to 30 seconds seemingly on a whim before slowing down on the final lap to think about whatever it is that superheroes/Killing Machines think about when they are exerting absolute control over their surroundings. Three World Cup wins in three races over seven days. He has won the last 15 cyclocross races he has entered.

This is Godzilla stomping all over Tokyo without any compelling reason (the moral compass of Godzilla has always been a tricky one to gauge, though, I will admit). This is The Flash scratching a track and field itch, or Aquaman hitting up the Olympic swim trials, or Wonder Woman deciding she wants to give rodeo a shot. This is Batman building a time machine to go back and execute all his nemeses before they reach puberty. Come on, dude. If you’re gonna build that time machine just go back and stop your dad from getting capped and maybe ramp up the charitable donations of the Wayne Foundation some more.

Earlier this season, Simon Stewart was asking me if cyclocross was worth watching this season. I answered emphatically that it was an absolute cracker already. Simon replied by saying that he didn’t know any of the names I was rattling off, and why bother watching if Wout Van Aert, or Tom Pidcock, or MVDP weren’t there. He wanted to see the big guns, the best of the best, the celebrities. The superheroes.

Well, Simon got what he asked for. The best of the best is apparently just hitting his stride. No cape, no fancy tool belt, no mask. Instead, the world of cyclocross is being dominated by a guy who flies in private jets and races wearing a $300,000 wristwatch, and just happens to be a brand ambassador for Lamborghini. He bears an uncanny physical resemblance to Dolph Lundren’s Ivan Drago character in Rocky 3, and exudes about that same level of ice-cold non-charm in post-race interviews after ripping the legs off everyone else and then beating them with their own severed limbs. Metaphorically speaking, of course. So, is he a superhero, or a supervillain?

As sports fans, we all have our reasons for our fandom. For me, with cyclocross, I remain as awestruck and in love with the intensity and the artistry of the sport as I did the first time I ever tripped over a barrier during a sloppy dismount. It is a love affair that has lasted through stints as a racer, a spectator, a course worker, and a mechanic at everything from local races to the World Championships. Cyclocross is, to me, the perfect sport for rabid and unreasonable fandom.

Like any rabid and unreasonable fan, though, I have my heroes and my villains. Villains are dime a dozen and easy to source. I’m a little saddened that Eli Iserbyt isn’t racing this winter, because he is so easy to hate on. Heroes, on the other hand, I am careful about. I need them to be flawed. There needs to be visible Kryptonite. I need to be able to really cheer when they finally prevail against the odds. Thomas Frischknecht was a perfect cyclocross and mountain bike hero for specifically this reason. Frischy was such a badass, not because he could win everywhere, but because he almost did win everywhere. In 1996, aside from winning the MTB World Championships, he came 2nd in the MTB World Cup, 2nd at the inaugural Olympic MTB race, and then 2nd at the Cyclocross World Championships in Munich (on flat handlebars, no less! If I’m not mistaken, the UCI banned flat bars for ‘cross after that). This almost dominance made him more of a hero in my eyes than any string of resounding victories could.

I want to see someone beat Tadej Pogacar, much as I am charmed by him. I gained more respect for Loic Bruni as he lost the DH World Cup overall this year than I did watching him rack up his wins. And I love watching Wout Van Aert go so deep into the pain cave that his eyes roll back in his head, even as MVDP is roosting all over him and everyone else.

Watching Van Der Poel lay waste to the world is like watching Michael Schumacher at his best in F1. Marc Marquez in MotoGP. Tom Brady era Patriots. Lance Armstrong era US Postal Service. Nino Schurter’s and Julien Absalon’s best years combined. The entire Atherton family at their collective peak. To watch MVDP race is to be in awe. I counted one mistake on Saturday, and one on Sunday, in what was otherwise a masterclass of sand riding. I’d say it was a masterclass of racecraft as well, except that would imply he had someone to race against.

I’m in awe, but I am not at all stoked about this. I couldn’t stand Schumacher or the Patriots, do not need to say a damn word about Armstrong, and am kinda dreading Marquez’s continued dominance in MotoGP. I was always hoping someone would come along and give Nino a run for his money before he got old enough to be the father of some of the riders he was beating from one end of a World Cup season to the other. This, what MVDP is doing to cyclocross, is what Superman would do if he was bored and wanted to make people feel the full shortcomings of their sad little mortal lives.

As far as stories go, it makes for a shitty blockbuster movie script. I’m scanning the sky in hope of an asteroid.