I think I am falling in love.
It happened unexpectedly. I wasn't looking for it.
Bittersweet goodbyes after time spent together. Excited anticipation before the next encounter increasing proportionally to the unfolding potential of experience. And then, butterflies. An unsolicited smile that can't help but to unfailingly show up on my face.
I am talking about road cycling.
If it weren't for "corona", I would have gone to the gym that day, as usual, instead of attempting to reach a far up high village on my 30 kg city bike, failing miserably. I wouldn't have brought it up to a friend who happens to own a billion road bikes. She wouldn't have offered to lend me one to try again together that weekend. I wouldn't have done it, I wouldn't have had the experience. I wouldn't have loved it. And I wouldn't have bought my now beloved gravel bike —an undeniably gorgeous, miraculously light piece of wonderful German engineering.
I remember looking at cyclists overtaking me with skepticism. The complicated gear, the aggressive position, the intimidating speed. I didn't get it at first. Now I might be turning into one of them.
Just in the last couple of days I have witnessed some beautiful, heart melting sunsets I would have otherwise missed. I have set foot (or tires) on exuberant fields and peaceful hills that, up until now, I had just looked at from city windows or bridges. I have witnessed flocks of different kinds of birds taking off ahead of on lonely roads as a startled reaction to my approach. For once, I have been the one taking over dozens of city bikes. A route that took me half a day to complete two years ago, I have been able to cover in just two hours today. The steepness of it felt like a stimulating challenge to be mastered, instead of an enemy that couldn’t be defeated. All the while having my muscles grind, my heart race, and my sweaty skin melt with the wind in exchange for a cooling sense of freedom.
What’s not to love?
