Okay, I know...I've not stuck a new post on here since Christmastime. And I certainly haven't ridden my bike since well before Christmas, maybe not in the month of December. Not that it's been pleasant bicycle weather here in Denver. But still.
As a few of you know, I've been struggling a bit with cycling. My riding is solo, predictable and unsatisfying. My writing about cycling has been bitchy, curmudgeonly. I'm not convinced that I've become bitchy and curmudgeonly in a global sense; my motorcycle writing is healthy. I find joy in motorcycling.
I seldom find joy in my bicycling.
I remember too well what cycling was like back when, when we rode in communities of riders. When saying you were a bike rider said a lot about who you were. When you couldn't imagine you wouldn't be a rider for life.
When I moved away from the Bay Area in 1997, I lost that community. I have worked to find it again and failed. I've been riding my bike most days since then, and occasionally, I have done delightful rides. Not very damned often.
On my undelightful rides these days, I sit and pedal and watch what happens on the bike paths; almost none of it pleases me. I go home and write sad tales, the ravings of an embittered old man.
Because this blog has focused on the bicycling side of my life rather than the motorcycling side, I have felt reluctant to post my thoughts, reluctant to share the shadow that has fallen over my cycling. Long ago I began providing links to articles I found interesting rather than disappoint my readers with my own somber thoughts.
I believe I'm passing through some phase, a senior crisis for chrissakes maybe. I can still get excited about doing some epic ride months from now, but I can't force myself to take my bike down off the hooks and ride it today, though I've been doing just that for 35 years. And never imagined I'd quit.
Tamar and I have been talking about this. Maybe I have to break old habits and drive our car to remote areas and ride there. Maybe I can find some of the old feeling. Or make some new cycling friends. Maybe maybe.
I'll try to post more faithfully and more personally than I have for a year or so. If you live in the Pacific NW, I'll surely write about my plight in the Bicycle Paper. If you don't, look for a link to my BP pieces here.
Thanks for reading, as sad Tyler Hamilton used to say at the end of his reports. If you sometimes or always feel the same way I do, please don't hesitate to comment on this page. Remember, your comments are blind: your email address is not supplied to me. Mine is firstname.lastname@example.org