3. Finding Love

 

When my back pains come, I instantly remember the exercises I should have done but for some reasons (read laziness) I didn't. This time it was no different, only that I didn't even bother to find excuses for having been lazy in the past months. Instead, I did what I had to, kind of naturally. When the back strikes, I am pretty immobile: I cannot walk, bend, get into the car, in some cases not even lie down. The only thing that takes the pain out of me is biking. It works like a miracle, I'd spend the whole day on the saddle if possible.

It was then no surprise when I decided to go for a ride in the afternoon to see how it goes. It would not be a long one, just around 20 km. I had a city bike, nothing fancy, but in a newish state, so it would be fine to start pedaling.

I was back in about an hour. Woooow! What a lovely experience. Sooooo different from running! The pain was gone the minute I hopped on the saddle, the music was enthralling, but maybe the most important aspect of it was that I could enjoy the scenery. While my goal during running was to not die, biking gave me a great sense of elation. I relished every single moment of that trip and one thing was clear: I could not wait for the next one. 

    And that was more than the beginning of a beautiful friendship. It was like falling in love. I would go out three, four, five times a week. In different sets: alone, with a friend, family sometimes, longer and longer, faster and faster. Of course, your butt hurts at first from the saddle-tanning, but what’s a bit of pain when you've found true love? 😆

    The bike drug kicked in almost in an instant. Before I realised what happened I discovered a few beautiful routes around the city (at least 6), all about 40-50 km. Also, my biking technique improved: I thought I knew how to ride a bike, but I still managed to surprise myself - no embarrassing details will be revealed, thank you very much! My endurance got much better: if, at first, I needed a stop after 25 km, in a short time I could go 50, even 60 without getting off the bike. 

    The pain in the butt disappeared pretty soon. I noticed it when I went twice over the very same cobblestoned path at a week interval and I realised that I didn’t feel the bumps anymore: the butt had been properly tanned. 

    The scales got friendlier and friendlier. Surely, some (substantially long) way to go, but I started to notice that some kilos had already left the house. 

    Still, the most beautiful part of this was the enjoyment. I discovered the pleasure of being outside in the sun, rain, wind, forest, city, farmland, tarmac, meadow, you name it. I observed how beautiful and lush nature is around us (the Dutch cycling infrastructure is astounding in facilitating that). I began enjoying music while pedalling, like going past the lyrics, really immersing myself in the music itself. Hearing the instruments, even the violins sometimes. And proudly telling that to my wife:

“Flo, that’s the cello!”

“Oh!”

“You know the difference, right?”

”Sure, it burns longer if set on fire!”

    All in all, everything was like a magical triangle: cycling, nature, music. And me in the middle of it. Just wonderful. 

    And still, I am a man. Which means I have the propensity to spoil my own party. The joy of the ride soon became insufficient and I - competitive. At first, against the others. It must have happened gradually, but I do recall the trigger. I was riding on a beautiful and long path along a canal, with quite a few other people around me. Passing them and trying to improve my time when, from my left, I got overtaken by a bike. And not one of those bikers that look like the imperial troops from Star Wars, oh no! It was an old man, definitely above 65, the type wearing jeans, socks in sandals, and a large t-shirt tucked in the pants, leather belt holding them. I swear he looked like that.

    “Fuuuuuuck, am I that sluggish?”

I managed to catch up with him (of course he was on an electric bike, but that didn’t change the situation) and, since then, I do not recall many bicycles going past me, save for the race ones with the imperial troops on them. Whenever I’d see a bike in front of me, I’d make it my first target. 

    Then I became competitive with myself, going faster and faster. The speed went only up: in the beginning, I would keep a 21 odd km/h, soon 23 became the norm, then 24, 25, even 26 km/h on average over 50 km. Not bad for a city bike. I would keep the 45-50km distances, but now and then I would go even longer. The van Gogh and Liberation routes were my favourites when I felt like going a bit longer. 

    When I said I spoiled my party by being competitive, I lied. In fact, going faster and longer only amplified the celebration. I realised how much I liked it once when I checked the gps somewhere midway and saw with great delight that I still got 20 something km to enjoy before the trip was done. The magical triangle seemed to have got a purpose as well, whatever that purpose was. 

    And, in pursuing it, an idea started to sprout in my head, timidly at first: what if ...