Do you ever get the fingers-over-your-eyes feeling that everything might be about to fall apart? Or maybe it’s already fallen apart, and you’re stuck to the couch, numb and disassociating, a knotted black tangle of wool wrapped around your prefrontal cortex, choking away all your happiness and your optimism.
You could keep walking the jittery line between despair and hope, or you could stay sitting there until everything shakes out. Or, you could take a moment to cleanse the palate by remembering that even when things are either absolutely awful now or might be soon, there are redeeming moments to be found. We might as well start there.
A child’s first bike ride
Do you remember your first ever ride? Maybe not – it’s likely to be catalogued in the more distant reaches of your childhood memory. But if you’re a parent or have experienced the joy of watching a child learn to ride a bike, it provides a direct portal to the purest joy of riding. Watch their little legs turn over the pedals, the little wobbles from side to side as they figure out the balance, and the smile that spreads across their face as they realise that they are doing this: propelling themselves forward on humanity’s most perfect invention, the world simultaneously shrinking and expanding around them with the new skill they’ve acquired.
Back in the saddle after a time away
Maybe you’ve been travelling. Maybe you’ve been sick. The reason doesn’t really matter, but suffice to say that you’re itching for a ride – and finally, the moment’s here. Your tyres are pumped up, your chain is lubed/waxed/circle as appropriate, and you roll down the driveway. Everything feels a bit wrong on your bike at first: the seat height is a smidge high or low, the reach is a bit short or long. But the further you go, everything starts to feel more right. A few corners in and the muscle memory is back; you brake a bit later, lean the bike over a little further, carve your way around these familiar roads, remembering everything that you love about it. With each pedal stroke, your day and your mood feels closer to redemption.
Sunrise on the bike
You woke up before the birds, the sky a bruised blue-black. Quietly, you pulled on your kit, tiptoeing around the house and sneaking out the side door. The air’s got a chill to it and for the first 10 or so minutes you feel it sneaking into the gaps at your sleeves and collar and turning your fingertips a little numb. But as your heartrate rises and you settle into a rhythm, that’s forgotten. The roads are quiet, and the light from your bike extends ahead of you. The sky lightens, turning wisps of cloud pink, then golden, as the sun pokes its head over the horizon – just you and your bike and maybe some friends and a big glowing orb in the sky, reminding you of how small and fleeting and beautiful life can be.
Dust on the fork-crown
Of all of the interactions between a bicycle and the elements, there’s one that always seems particularly artistic. No, not the stripe of grit and dirt fanning out on either side of the seat tube after a wet ride. Or chunks of mud clumped behind the bottom bracket. But the ethereal gorgeousness of dust at the top of the fork – ah, that’s one of the great things about riding off-road. It’s a memento of the journey you’ve been on, the way that your passage has whirred the ground into powder; the legacy of sun shining through haze, the physical expression of the psychological legacy of your gravel ride. It is part of the world that has delicately rested on your bike, and followed you home.
Finding mechanical perfection
For the last couple of rides, the rear derailleur has been skipping a bit. It started out tolerable – just a little noise in the middle of the cassette – but it’s worn away at your patience. Now it skips back and forth, back and forth, before settling. So you hang up the bike in the workstand and set out to make amends.
The pleasure is in the process: a few turns of the barrel get it closer to being dialled, but it’s not quite perfect yet. A new cable outer? A new cable? A bent hanger? Something snagging the inner in the outer, or the friction of a ferrule sitting crooked? So, methodically, you work through your checklist – tweaking here, tightening there, lining things up.
Maybe it’s a five-minute task or a sweary hour-long exercise. But when you’re done, no matter how frustrated you got, you have a simple transcendental moment; a gentle shift of the lever moves the cable moves the derailleur moves the chain, and with a quiet but satisfying snick it slots into the right cog and everything for that moment is right in the world.
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