By Kerry Purget
  

  There comes a time when every professional rider has to consider his options and decide on the next step. The pro cycling career is but a short one, and besides the highs and lows, there is often little left but memories when it is all over.
  
  For some, eternal glory is their due. Their names get whispered reverently as they trot down the street to the local supermarket. For others, an adequate nest egg to live the rest of their lives over, plus great racing anecdotes to liven up any dinner party. The less fortunate ones find second jobs, delivering mail or filing paperwork.
  
  However, many of them are lucky enough to see the end coming and either go out with a bang or at the very least a dignified bow. Not so Elmar Rothstein.
  
  Rothstein was born in Düsseldorf, Germany to middle class parents. The young Elmar went to public school where he excelled in a variety of sports. Upon entering his late teens, he made a decision to take up cycling full time, rather than turn out for Fortuna Düsseldorf in the 2. Bundesliga.
  
  Though he wasn't as good as he would have liked to believe, Rothstein did well enough in the German national championships to catch the eye of the then amateur silvertempo team. By then, Rothstein had wed his highschool sweetheart Maaike and they were expecting their first child together. Rothstein took on a job as a junior accountant, training during evenings before returning home late to his adoring family.
  
  Then, the year he turned 27, when he thought his dreams had all long passed him by, the team went professional. Team manager fassa was happy enough to hand the local boy a contract, and Rothstein gladly put pen to paper. A long drawnout argument with the bosses at his accounting firm later, he became a full time pro cyclist. His bridges were burnt, but what did that matter? He had a pro contract, a beautiful wife and a 4 year old son. THe future seemed bright.
  
  Rothstein exceled in his first season on the pro circuit, even managing to eke out a first glorious win on home soil at the Dresden GP. The silvertempo team steadily climbed the rankings, and as more talented youngster came to the fore, Rothstein was more than happy enough to make way and play the part of domestique.
  
  Early this season, silvertempo management met with Rothstein, informing him that due to the upcoming credit crunch, they would not be able to offer him another contract. But it was no matter, for Elmar Rothstein had fulfilled his childhood dreams, and could coast away satisfied. Now he could just sit back and look forward to spending quality time with his family. Or so he thought.
  
  A month ago,

Rothstein Jr was admitted to hospital in the middle of the night, with what at first appeared to be just a bad case of fever. The prognosis, however was damning. Recovery was possible, but it would be slow and costly. The Rothsteins emptied their joint bank account to pay for treatment, but it soon appeared that it would not be nearly enough. Friends opened up their wallets to help, but in this current climate, what little financial aid they could offer would just not do.
  
  There was no other option. As his only child lay in a hospital bed, Elmar Rothstein realised he had to go on cycling. silvertempo management was sympathetic, but another contract was simply out of the question. It was already hard enough making ends meet as a mid level racing team with more than 15 riders and even more backup crew on the books. However, team principal fassa made a promise. He would help Rothstein find another team that was willing to take him on and give him a contract.
  
  After a week, it was obvious not many teams wanted a beat up old rider, whose prime had long past him. There was one offer, one glimmer of hope. The big Portuguese cycling team Torreira might just be interested in an extra rider to fill their ranks for the next season.
  
  And so Rothstein signed the forms, bade his family farewell and headed for Lisbon, all expenses paid by his new employer.
  
  Upon arrival, all seemed well. A team official was waiting by the airport and the journey to the training complex was an interesting one, full of new sights. Sure, Rothstein had raced in Portugal before, but with the hectic scheme of things, never really got a chance to appreciate the scenery from the back of a chaffeured car.
  
  However, his first sign of things going wrong was when he reached the complex. Instead of smiling faces and welcoming arms, he was met by a sombre looking junior official who instructed that he was to follow him into a small office.
  
  And then the bombshell. Torreira were very sorry, but the spot had been filled and they would not be signing him after all. There was a clause in the contract which he had signed, which said either party was able to tear it up within the first week if they were not satisfied with the arrangement. Torreira were now exercising that right. Adeus, Elmar.
  
  So now, Elmar Rothstein is out in the cold, without a team, without a career. How do happy memories of a cycling career gone by console him? How do memories pay for his child's treatment? For the cynics that say pro cycling is a cold, hard, unforgiving sport, perhaps they are right. But does the end justify the means? How do you look Elmar Rothstein in the eye and tell him that's the way the world goes round?
  
  Is there no space at all for compassion in the cycling world?