Recently work and life has taken me on a move from the Hudson Valley to northern New Jersey. Throughout the month long frenzy of real estate agents, closings, packing, driving, more packing and moving, there was little of substance to lean on. Little, except for the one singular constant that has defined my free time and my life for the past half dozen years. Even with the weather being damp and unforgiving, a ride on the trainer was like an hour long escape from reality. Somehow, the simplicity of losing oneself within a bike ride is the perfect escape from reality.
With the pressure of the world around us starts to close in upon us, putting our psyche in a proverbial vice, it can crack even the toughest of our shells. Our defenses can be ground into dust and leave us vulnerable and wishing for an out. Little do we often realize that out is literally a step outside our own front door. For that matter, very often we forget exactly what attracted us to cycling in the first place. Sure, we have our training plans, our Garmin courses and our racing schedules, but we have something far more primal that matters even more.
Stepping out the front door and riding can set us free in a way nothing else can. No other vehicle gives us the freedom while maintaining our honesty and innocence. Cars are fossil fueled mechanical beasts that get us from place to place in comfort, but isolate us from the world around us. We never feel the sun on our face, the wind against our body or the whistle of tires on tarmac. We make no effort other than pushing down on the gas pedal, engaging our gastroc to inch the speedometer needle upwards. Oppose with that the idea of sitting on a 130mm wide perch, powering through the headwinds that most never even know exist, feeling the sweat drip from the angle of our brow as we churn our entire body into a drive, propelling ourselves to deeper levels of suffering in the name of forward motion.
Not only does the bike detach us from the mechanized world, it also carries us into the few remaining wildernesses today. We can turn our bars down any road we choose but more often than not, we seek out the untraveled dirt path, the softly traveled back road, the rolling hills of horse country or the chip sealed forgotten country pikes. As cyclists we're actively seeking solitude, away from the hustle and bustle of civilization. Not that we're uncivilized, per se, but our ride is our time to think, ponder or simply forget.
To steal (with poetic license of course) from a one William Shakespere:
To forget – perchance to daydream; aye, there's the rub. For in that forgetfulness of suffering, what daydreams may come.
And therein lies one of the values most treasured by cyclists. The suffering we endure at the expense of our cogs is a mentally purifying ritual that can erase the worst that the day-to-day world can throw our way. The human pressure cooker releases its inferno-like grip on our lives as we lose ourselves in the effort and pay the piper with sweat and grit. Amazingly, even though we can't simply ride away from our problems into a storybook sunset they certainly don't seem so bad when we glide to a stop. The *clack* of pedals releasing their charges signify our return to the real world; a reintroduction to the mechanized infantry we're a part of from nine to five, but the rush of absolution will persist in mediating our psyche, salvaging our delicately balanced sensibilities for yet another day.
THAT, my dear readers, is but one of many special reasons as to why we ride…
A very eloquent piece of writing, Very nicely put.