Suffering

Biking can and is fun and enjoyable, blissful even. The wind in your hair, the sweet smell of the trees, the laugh of your biking companions. It can be really nice. But not always. Sometimes being on a bike is pure hell.

I have never been the kind of person that gives names to things, my computer is called, computer, my pets get rotating names, when I did own a car it was just “car.” In fact the only thing I ever gave a name to was my aluminum fixed gear track bicycle, its moniker of choice “little murder machine.” Its number one victim, me.

Let me explain the draw backs of Little miss murder. She’s stiff, transferring every little bump right into your hind quarters. Shes compact, forcing you into an uncomfortable hunched position. Shes only got one speed, and you can’t coast. Going up hill you mash your brains out, going down you are at spin class.

There is one important plus of the murder machine. Shes fast as hell. That aluminum frame is light, and that stiffness transfers all your power right into the wheel. That hunched up position makes you aerodynamic. And only one gear means you only have to worry about one thing, going faster.

I am not sure if there is something wrong with my brain, but I love to hurt on a bike, specifically this bike, my little murder machine. A couple of weeks ago I rode miss murder to Provincetown, 144 miles in a single day. It hurt, and I loved it. I regularly go out for 20-30 mile sprints where I try to average 20 miles per hour or faster the entire time. It hurts, it hurts bad. I love it even more.

Pushing yourself to your limits hurts, your back creaks, your arms ache, your legs scream, your lungs feel like sandpaper, but somehow when its all done you feel great. Its like some primitive ritual, cleansing yourself of everything but the desire to make yourself go further, or faster, or harder.

Yesterday I took advantage of the July 4th holiday to get some alone time on my bike. It was about noon when I rolled out of the house, the sun was blazing and I already felt like a wilted piece of lettuce. It was going to be one of those rides.

30 miles and 1 hour 15 minutes later I was back at my house, red as a beet, panting, and smiling like an idiot. My arm left a sweaty sun screen tattoo on the storm door, and I couldn’t get into a cold shower fast enough. 30 minutes later I felt glorious. Even my hair seemed to feel better. I was hollowed out of everything bad, and all that was left was a lovely feeling of floating.

Suffering on a bicycle is something you learn to love. Like coffee, or beer, its an acquired taste, and just like coffee or beer there are subtle and fine distinctions to the suffering. Only after long practice will you be able to detect the minuscule differences in pain afforded to you from different kinds of rides. The more orchestral tones of a long distance pain fest, vs the acidic bite of a short high speed ride.

Bikes are lovely inventions, and most of the time they are a source of joy and happiness, but for the few that have learned to love the suffering, nothing on earth provides it better than a bicycle. It is the most efficient machine ever invented for causing suffering to a human being, and I love it. My little murder machine is still my favorite bike.

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The Joys Of Cycling, Suffering On Your Bicycle

This is another installment of my continuing series, the joys of cycling. In which I try to chronicle some of the hidden gems of cycling.

It’s hot, it’s muggy, the guy on the radio described the weather as “aggressive humidity.” So in my infinite wisdom I decided it would be a good idea to ride 40 miles in a big loop out to Waltham, down to JP, downtown, then up to Somerville, with 30 pounds of crap strapped to my back. Not since the Katamari cat had I inflicted so much heat and weight related suffering upon myself.

Why I did such a silly thing is not as important as to how I felt doing it. Riding in the summer heat and humidity is a completely different animal. Its like bike riding but damp and oppressive. You start by developing a slight film of sweat, with quickly becomes a torrent, and soon you are feeling drips of sweat roll down your elbows and off the tip of your nose. When you have a heavy bag on, the sweat also accumulates down your backside, good times! It’s also interesting to note that so long as you keep moving the sweat does its job more or less (evaporating to cool you) but the moment you stop at a red light, release the flood! You go from a glistening cyclist, to a drowned rat in a couple seconds.

Going out west there was a steady wind in my face, this had the duel effects of cooling me down somewhat (i mean a 85 degree super humid wind will still cool you down a little bit right?), and making my uphill slog that much more horrible enjoyable. My back hurt from the various oddly shaped pointy things jabbing into it, my legs were letting me know they hated me, and every part of me was hot and miserable. It was awesome!

I truly enjoy suffering on a bicycle. Just feeling like total horrible twice baked ass. I don’t particularly like it AS I am doing it, but really enjoy it once I STOP doing it. I enjoy pushing myself, I enjoy seeing just how hard I can go, I enjoy finding a new level of personal achievement, but I really like the shower and ice cream after all that. Someone wiser than me once said that “mercy was the ability to stop” they were probably a bicyclist.

There are real benefits to pushing yourself on your bicycle. You get stronger, both mentally and physically. You feel more confident. You understand that you CAN do it. You can push yourself right up to the line, and and then ride screaming over that line into uncharted territory. You also at some point get to enjoy the end of all that, the sweet sweet feeling of falling asleep when even your toes are tired and ready for bed.

Do you ever do things on your bike that other would look at as pure agony? Do you enjoy the fine sleepy oblivion after a long hard day of cycling, do you suffer on your bicycle and suffer with a smile? Let us all know in the comments.

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