Flying to the moon on our velocipedes

I’ve started reading a new book. 

It’s about cycling, so we’re on topic. And don’t worry, I’m not trying to sell it or review it. Maybe a proper review will come later. Much later — I’m a slow reader. My agenda here is to convey my appreciation for a description written in the prologue that resonated. 

The book is called “Two Wheels Good” by Jody Rosen — its title a nod to Orwell’s sanctimonious maxim, “two wheels good, four wheels bad.” 

The following passage I’m about to share here captures what I think this newsletter, and others like it, along with all other cyclists who have endeavored to write about the sport, is trying to express. 

Cycotherapy is about “conquering the fear du jour through bikes and whimsy.” But it cuts deeper than that, doesn’t it? If I’m being truly honest, this newsletter is my attempt to capture the very essence of my — no, our — obsession with cycling. What is it about pushing pedals for miles and miles over hills and through busy streets or down singletrack that is so addictive? How much pain in the quadriceps, the knees, the neck is enough? What makes us pine over the next time we get into the saddle after a grueling, dehydrating effort between the sun and hot asphalt?

And so when I come across a passage that seizes onto an iota of clarity to that end, I gotta share it.

The connection we make between cycling and flying is metaphorical. You might even call it spiritual: an expression of the powerful feelings of freedom and exhilaration we experience when we ride bikes. But it is also a response to a physical fact. If cyclists imagine themselves to be flying, it is because, in a sense, they are.

When you ride a bicycle, you’re airborne. The wheels that spin beneath you slip a continuous band of compressed air between the bike and the road, holding you aloft. That floating feeling, that sensation of airy buoyancy, is heightened by the way the bike bears your body: your legs do the work of propelling the vehicle, but the job of supporting your body weight is outsourced to the bicycle itself. Today you can attach an inflatable saddle to your seat post and sit back on a pillow of air even as your bike’s wheels turn on air. Perhaps you are riding down an empty road on a quiet night lit by a full moon. Your bicycle will not take you on a voyage to the moon, but it is not quite earthbound, either. You’re in another world, an intermediary zone, gliding somewhere between terra firma and huge horizonless sky.

Yes. 

I have had unarticulated thoughts of flying when I’m on the bike. And to know that I’m in total control of this sensation is one of those intangible transactions that makes the pain, toil and labored breathing all worth it. 

So here’s to the otherworldly feeling we get whilst floating on our velocipedes. 

Now get out there and ride to the moon, you cycopath.