Things I Bike About

Isn't it romantic?

December 29th, 2020 - Location: Denver, Colorado

"It'll cost about $500 to replace all the lines...they're rusted completely through" was the estimate and diagnosis the Midas mechanic gave me on the pivotal summer of 2012. Really? That's almost more than this stupid car is worth. A 1999, cherry tomato red, 4 door Chevy Cavalier that had seen 2 generations of drivers, (three counting myself). I had just gotten established, I thought. I was working full time now at Rollins College in Winter Park, Florida, just started classes and this happens? Oy.

It's fine, I told myself, I was already experimenting with riding my new bike into work. I wish I could give you the reason I even purchased a "nice" bike. I put that in quotes because the more I learn about bikes the more I realize that my then (and current) bike is essentially the make and model of a Chevy Cavalier equivalent. But it was an upgrade from the nicest that Wal-Mart had to offer at the time. The ride, the feel, everything about it was solid. This was, to me, a nice bike. One that you couldn't leave sprawled out on the front lawn all summer. One that's price tag justified trying to ride it more often than I might've otherwise.

The plan was just to save some money and eventually buy a new-used car. But the cheap, frugal part of me thought, hey, what if, I just, don't? I mean, sure, I come to work every day covered in sweat (this is Florida, so we're talking a gallon per ride). But I freshen up, I bring in a good change of clothes, and bam, it's doable. Well, okay, but what about getting around? What about going on dates? What about getting to far away places? Sigh. Well. Those are great questions. Questions which would only find awkward answers and solutions as the years go on. But rest assured, my first inclination into the bike only lifestyle I was embarking on was that of one to save money. Honestly, it's still my strongest one. Sure, I care about the environment and improving cardiovascular health is fine and all, but, no car payments? Insurance? Replacing starters, changing oil, giant mechanical failures? It was a pretty easy choice. Couple that with easy Florida riding (almost always sunny, flat as a pancake) and it really seemed like a no brainer.

Almost 9 years later, and I here I am. Still with just the bike, and besides the cargo van I bought years ago and only had for around 6 months (mostly to haul compost for some raised bed gardens), I haven't owned a vehicle. Trust me, it's not some point of pride, and even if it were, that pride is easily overshadowed by the utter inconvenience that a choice like this brings to one's lifestyle. There is no nobility in this choice, rather, it just reflects the cheap bastard I truly am. I've saved hundreds, and saved even more as the years went on as I learned how to repair everything on the bike myself. On top of being cheap, I also had that sense of pride that comes with making something broken work again...

But there is one more aspect to biking that I'm overlooking and what brings me to write this whole thing. The romance. The earned downhills, the feeling of exhaustion after a good ride, the bitter defeat of headwinds and the relief of tailwinds when they come. Perhaps I'm bending the definition of romance here, but if I may borrow Google's 2nd definition: "a quality or feeling of mystery, excitement, and remoteness from everyday life." Romance, to me, isn't purely a good thing. There is psychological trench warfare you embrace within yourself, typically in your most miserable moments, that comes into play. It has for me as evidenced by previous bike tours (and in my early 20's, failed hiking/hitch hiking tours). Further breaking down the definition, mystery is a neutral term. Either revealing a wonderful Couchsurfing host or a motel not suited for a opossum. Excitement can turn into disappointment, and then relegated defeat as things turn in a tenth of a second. As another tire flattens, all you can do is sigh, get out your patch kit, and try to troubleshoot the issue (extra points if you just replaced the tube not even 10 miles ago). It seems impossible to see the romance in a colloquial sense if the definition contorts like this. But the romance we must see, we must believe in until we can see that the mystery has something in store for us that will lighten our load, and make us again appreciate it. Romance, much like happiness, is less a state of being and more of a process. A continuum on the scale of our emotions, feelings and mood that reveals itself through contrasts. You'd never say "I feel so romantic" in the same way you'd say "I feel so happy" It is lived. It is experienced.

As I embark on what I hope to be a long and fruitful bike tour, it is the "remoteness from everyday life" bit I focus on the most. I am actively pursuing an everyday life that is going to be largely remote. I hope to reach a point where camping on some BLM land or biking 30-50 miles a day sans human interaction seems normal. The same way sitting in this Laz-e-boy and going to the park to run seems normal. If I can get there, I am telling myself, I will be in a good place. Of course, that is hope talking. What if the opposite is true? What if I get "used to it" and the resulting feeling is boredom? Complacency? A yearning for what was? I want to be ready and open to that as well. Because then the challenge won't be the pedals and the winds, but my own perspective, my own outlook. This, from my understanding, is a harder barrier than any physical obstacle that one can face. But for the time being, I can say I'm ready. I can do this. I look forward to this. I hope to carry this attitude until a new one lands.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading. I do appreciate it. I contemplated just journaling my experience to myself, but I hope to connect with as many people and places as I can while on this trip. For this reason, it makes sense to share it with others, as others will share themselves with me. I doubt my posts will be as analytical or heady as this one but it's hard to say. This is going to be one of the greatest challenges of my life, but hopefully a worthy one. If not, of course, you'll know about it.

Tune in next time as I go over some of the nuts and bolts of the trip, my gear and talk a bit about the podcast.