Maybe it’s the milestone of aging that I recently reached. It could be an awareness of the unique foibles of this sport/activity/pastime that I practice. Possibly, I just woke up one day and realised that this is a weird thing for a middle-aged man to be doing. The time for reassessment hit me, involuntarily and without warning. And I’m in a bind over it.
I’m sure I’m not the only one here who is over half a century old… of course the big man Gianni is a few more years advanced than I, and nothing seems to have phased his resolve to continue doing what he has done for so long. Like a priest who suddenly thinks that maybe this whole God thing is a crock of shite, I too am ruminating on the concept of Cycling and what it actually is to me, what it provides for me, and how it affects my everyday life. Thing is, my everyday life is 100% Cycling.
Over the summer, I rode my mountain bike a lot more and my road bikes a lot less. There were some outside factors affecting my decision, if it actually was a decision. The lack of a Keepers Tour meant that my previous two summers of avoiding the dirt through fear of injury was no longer a concern. A new bike that was just a total blast to ride meant that it was more often than not the one I reached for when trawling the shed for a steed on any given day. And the requirement, nay, duty, nay, obligation… oh fuck it, the desire to Look Fantastic was waning inside me. Not that I shirked my responsibility in this department, after all, I am not a savage.
When it came time for the inevitable road FRBs after weeks of dirty indulgence, The Mirror was sending me mixed signals. Everything was perfect kit-wise, but underneath the cloak things were decidedly less than neat and trim. Was I becoming a parody of everything I stood for, the very person whom The Rules was meant to be guiding? I started to get if not an understanding, then an empathy with the general population who sees not a late 40s guy in better shape than they, but a shaved-legged, sweaty poser clomping around a café in ballet shoes and clad in a thin layer plastered in logos that leaves way too little to the imagination. I was becoming the guy I hated.
So much so that I began thinking of giving it away. Not Cycling per se, but the Lycra, the cafés, the duelling with tonnes of metal piloted by those who, if given the chance, would gladly run us right over just so they can make it to the supermarket 15 seconds quicker. It seemed that mountain biking, even though there are more variables in terrain to catch you off guard, more obstacles placed in front and all around you waiting to rip skin from bone or even shatter those very bones, was a far safer option. And while not really of the opinion that mountain bikers can wear whatever the hell we want (once again, not savages), at least there is a modicum of modesty afforded by baggy shorts, loose(r) fitting tops and shoes you can actually walk in. Hell, the thought of actually growing my leg hair back seemed appealing.
But not for long. Luckily, I have a good support group of riding friends, who share my passion for both tarmac and dirt. They know how much the tradition, the purity of the road means to me, and rather than let me concede defeat, encouraged me to continue to fight the good fight. The turning point came last night, when our regular Tuesday after-work ride was being discussed throughout the day by email. Who’s in, who’s out, why? I had an overwhelming proclivity that a bunch of guys who predominantly wear black, even in the dark of a winter’s evening, choosing to do battle with peak-hour traffic for the simple pleasure of riding a bike seemed a little, well, crazy. They could’ve belittled me, questioned my manhood, or even outright insulted me, but a few words of encouragement, underpinned with empathy of my thought processes, helped me realise that this is just what we do. So we did it.
And it was good.
So very good, that I wanted to do it again today, something that has been weeks absent. Ok, I went for a mountain bike ride, solo, but the joy of being on my bike was the same as I felt last night, last month, last year. And as I reached the top of the peak, a group of different friends were there, almost by some twist of fate handed down from Mount Velomis. We descended together, and while they knew nothing of the inner demons that I was slaying on the way down, they were well aware of just how much fun I, we, were having.
Never forget the reason we ride. The answer is in the question.
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Beautiful brett, beautiful.
and there is no reason to not look fantastic when riding the dirt steed.
Middle aged curse... abandoning road for hiding in woods far from motoring idiots... or are you? Cycling is freedom through intent concentration and self exertion. Motoring is capitulation to distraction, impatience, and weakness. Yahoos race SUVs through the trees, but density is less than highways. Otherwise, you're dodging dogs, coyotes and wolves when there aren't any bears or cougars, all of which I've encountered off and on roads.
After 150,000 km, know that you have to rest then ride, which means continual planning and downtime. Parts of your body bark back when you're gone too long. Can't even imagine how arthritic/cardiac patients who've exclusively relied on cars must suffer. Yet they complain and laugh as they pass this sexagenarian fool creeping along on the white line, how they define realm of the cursed from right spot in space shared.
Marvelous piece and really hit a nerve. I just hit the big 5-0 last year and am as committed (if not more so than ever) to the bike - or 6 bikes as the case may be. I too have reflected on age, clothing, shaving and expenditures but when I can do a ride like last night on a beautiful summer's eve here in WI, on lovely roads and feeling fit enough to go hard but choose not to, but to ride for the sheer pleasure of it, I know my choices are sound. I can't make choices for others, but I can for me and being a cyclist for me is right.
Brett, wonderful! This is great.
I have been riding less on the road lately and, not even feeling guilty about it. I was actually afraid to share that here, for fear of being smashed.
I've got a lot of things going on off the bike right now. Nothing crazy, just...life is coming the way of cycling. Instead of resisting though, I'm finding time when I can, finding joy in making progress in lief (house, wife, career, etc.). I sometimes wonder if I'm still a Follower.
But, one ride can cure that. And, the fact is that I was going on 5, 6, and 7 hour weekend rides to make up for the fact that I didn't quite have it together in other areas. Now, I've found a balance. I take care of the VMH, the dogs/cats, the garden, my work...and I ride when I can and love those rides.
I have backed away from racer boy, but I can see me, and why I ride, more clearly. And why would I question this? I play futbol with a fun group of dudes, from 25-70, twice a week. I road ride when I can, I cyclocommute a pal to work once a week, just so we can chat and catch up. I might have lost my sprint, but I've found my "soul surfer" cycling inner me.
Also, I always, always go through phases. I cannot underestimate the joys cycling has provided, but the fact is that I have participated in a lot of sports along the way, some I have no interest in anymore. I think the key is too keep on finding your stoke doing something that makes you smile, whether it is riding a road bike, flying down mtn. bike trails, or hanging ten at Kaikoura.
As an avid downhill skier, I get the lure of the mountain bike. However, I don't find the same joy in mountain biking as I do in skiing.
When I'm on a bike, I must pedal. I must push myself. I must become one with the effort, the smoothness.
Trees get in the way and take me away from that mindfulness. Gravity, when going downhill, takes away from the effort I can supply.
It's fun, no doubt. It's just.....different.
Damn...I'm ready to go for a ride now, thanks for the article.
"They could've belittled me, questioned my manhood, or even outright insulted me...." - of course I expect that there will be a fair bit of that coming your way shortly compliments of the crew here :)
Ah, self doubt: that demon of adolescence and middle age. There probably is a correlation in there somewhere.
As to the poser bit: whether one is depends upon their inner dialogue.
Great piece Brett.
Got it. Thanx
Well timed and well written. I get to be that guy that talks about recovering from a significant bike wreck and pondering if cycling is really worth it. The VMH certainly doesn't believe its worth it, but she accepts the reality that I can't let it go. I try mountain biking- but the trails are limited near me (or more really, my skill set limits the trails) and more importantly, it doesn't feed my soul in the same way. There is magic in tarmac and it pulls at me, calls me, and tells me to ride.