I fractured my elbow several months ago in a cycling crash. The physical healing completed, but the enthusiasm for cycling subsided. Yesterday, the air was clean, fresh and cool on an overcast summer day. I dug out the old route maps I collected from riding with the Irvine Bicycle Club. I was looking for a short route to reintroduce myself to the idea of riding. I wanted to ride alone, at my own pace, in my own thoughts. I finally found a 15 mile route. I did my standard checklist: sunscreen, water, helmet, gloves, shoes, spare tires, pump, air pressure, identification, cash, sunglasses, shorts and jersey–the routine itself was like a priest preparing for Mass–a ritual of necessary items.
Finally, I was on the road, and for the next 3 hours, I just was in the process of cycling. For me, part of cycling is simply the level of attention needed to stay reasonably safe–basic matters like not tumbling over in front of vehicle, and anticipating a car that is emerging from an intersection or driveway. In the end, I felt like an old warrior who had returned to the battlefield. Others may see cycling in more rhapsodic terms of exuberance and pleasure. I view it as an objective: miles covered, problems overcome, and injuries avoided. They say that golf reveals a man’s character. It is disturbing to think cycling may reveal mine.