Cyclists are a tribe. We move in similar circles, intimately understand the lay of the land, and have the same sense of freedom when on two wheels. When I learn someone cycles, I know they are of my people.
Last Saturday I woke up early, pulled on my chamois, and headed off to tackle the 96 hilly miles of Cascade Bicycle Club’s Flying Wheel Century (almost). Instead of bringing friends, I brought headphones and planned on settling in for a quiet day of hard work. Instead, I ended up befriending a 62-year-old cyclist who blew my mind with his drive and good cheer.
I heard him before I saw him.
I had reached the first hill at mile four, and it was a wake up call. I kept my head down and my legs spinning and instead of grumbling about the crowd and the cars and the miles ahead of me, I listened to my breath. In and out I puffed, keeping time with my body’s effort, just as I learned in yoga.
Then, I looked up the hill at the brutal grade and the turn that kept the rest of the nastiness out of sight and I was about to start feeling sorry for myself when I heard huffs behind me. Someone was following me closely, and I put my head back down and brought us both up that spiteful eye opener.
On the descent the sound of the lungs caught up with me and introduced himself.
“Nice work on that hill,” he said, “Most people can’t change speeds on climbs.”
And with that, we began our long day together in the sun. We spoke cycling, childhood, travels, and more. The miles flew by and our legs felt strong. Instead of turning off at 65 miles, my newfound friend stuck with me and, in the end, we both turned back a little early – cutting 15 miles off the longest route.
We were tuckered but happy, having proven again that friendships are easy to forge on two wheels.
Just keep spinning. — Arielle