The sign was right there in front of me. I was at a ‘T’ in the road and there were only two directions I could go. Well, three if I decided to turn around and go back. But my day wasn’t done yet and I wanted to get another 30 miles in before calling it quits that unseasonably warm day at the end of September.
So what was it going to be? Would I go to the right or the left? No matter which direction I’d choose, the ride was going to continue being just what I needed. The quiet solitude and the warm sun healing my soul. Just me, the empty gravel road, and my bike.
That question has been sitting with me ever since.
What Could I Do Differently? Choosing Movement Over Numbness
I already know the answer to this question and that is what is so goddamn annoying because I’ve been making “life” a priority over it for far too long now. And yes, I have responsibilities that sometimes do need to come first. There is also a bit of guilt and, “what would my family think” questions in the back of my mind.
The truth of it is though, I could ride my bike. Not for some leisure, or entertainment, or escape from those responsibilities and obligations. But because biking has always given me distance. Distance from my addictions, the “noise”, and from my own bullshit.
The Bike Was Never Just a Bike
Riding for me, especially gravel biking, was never about exercise. Instead it has always been about escaping the f*cked-up, addictive, “stinkin’ thinking” that clouds my mind.
In the early days of my sobriety, getting on that bike and hunting down the closest gravel trail out of town was the most free I can remember ever being. No voices in my head screaming to go get a bottle or how I said the wrong thing and pissed off someone again.
All I had to do was pedal. One stroke after another. Wondering what was around the next turn of the trail or how to navigate the different gravel patterns in the road without crashing out.
How Chaos Slowly Replaced a Lifeline
Life was getting louder and work was getting heavy. The stress of balancing 10 plus hour schedules and still finding the energy to help with homework, dinner, house chores was overtaking my thoughts. “We’ll go out for a ride this weekend” I would tell my wife.
The weekend would come and then be gone before I could blink. Slowly, week after week, month after month, shit would keep popping up and the excuses would roll off my tongue.
When a free weekend would roll around, it was so exciting. Exciting that finally there were no priorities, no schedules, no To-Do lists. We’d get out on the bikes again and hit those local trails we loved so much. Ugh. To just lay in bed and rot felt so good.
Looking back, it was like a wasp stinging me in the armpit, sharp, sudden, and impossible to ignore. My mind tells me how pathetic I am for the excuses I made. Again.
Why “Later” Is a Dangerous Lie
I didn’t stop riding because I stopped loving it. It was because I got the “Laters”.
Later tells me lies. It whispers that I’m fine and that I’ve earned a break. “Skipping today doesn’t matter,” it says. There’s always next weekend. Next month, year, anniversary, celebration. It goes on and on.
Enough skipped days, weekends, months later, here I am. The bike is still hanging in the garage with dusty and flat tires.
What Riding Actually Keeps Me Sober From
When I would ride regularly, recovery didn’t just magically get easier, but it got quieter. And not quiet in a bad way.
Being among nature, battling the loose gravel and preparing for the quick change to hard compact and crushed rock was a constant reminder of just how little I had control over. Riding at various times in different seasons was a constant lesson that in the wild, life doesn’t just stop.
It grows, it dies, and it grows again. Regardless of the adversity nature is faced with, it always says, “watch this mother f*cker.”
Doing It Differently Doesn’t Mean Doing It Perfectly
What could I do differently? I could stop waiting to “feel” like it and stop pretending I need perfect weather, the perfect time, or the perfect mood. To decide to ride even when it feels inconvenient because inconvenience never killed me. Addiction almost did.
My Commitment Going Forward
Even ten minutes or a slow spin is enough. As long as I show up half-assed, it still counts as showing up. I don’t need a big comeback ride and I’m not craving Strava glory or personal record mileage segments.
I will decide to swing my leg over that frame and let momentum do what motivation won’t. This isn’t about guilt. It’s about honesty.
I won’t punish myself or try to prove anything but to reconnect with a part of me that used to choose motion over numbness. That is what I can do differently and honestly, that is more than enough.
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