goatspeak: #thelobsterroll, day 2

When cyclists meet, and start to get to know each other, they often ask for the cycling version of an origin story.

When did you start riding bikes?

Mostly north today. North, and into a headwind. Tomorrow, mostly east. More ride details here.

In the answer, you learn a lot about a person. At least, I like to think you do. A bit of history. Maybe something of their values.

The question we don't ask, but maybe should, is this:

Why do you keep riding bikes?

I think the answer to this question is a bit harder to answer.

Early in the ride. Spirits are high, and so are the watts. We started slower, but at 70 miles in had averaged just under 21 mph. At the finish, still over 20 mph. (Did I mention we were battling a headwind?) We're all committed to riding a more reasonable pace tomorrow.

In the cyclocross documentary "Transitions" (watch the trailer here), you hear a disembodied voice answer the question this way, "It's just that I like it. I'm good at it."

Fair enough.

What the disembodied voice does not provide is the answer a sociologist might give, which, perhaps, would be to discuss the cultural tapestry of privilege that even allows him to do such a thing. I think about this a lot. I mean... A. LOT. I often dislike where the train of thought takes me.

All the same, as with the person behind the voice-over, I like it too, this riding bikes thing. Whether I'm good at it or not depends on who you ask, I suppose. That is, if you're looking for an objective response. Subjectively, though... Sure, I think I'm good at it. I like how I feel when I do it. I like what it does to my body. I very much like the sense of personal empowerment cycling affords. To me, it is of unquantifiable psychic value (see Nietzsche quote in right sidebar). And I like the machines. They're beautiful. Some of them, I could stare at all day.

Ashokan Reservoir provides New York City with 40 percent of its drinking water. It provides me with a stunning backdrop for one of my favorite machines to stare at.

I teach my students that people do their best work under conditions in which they are given autonomy, the opportunity to master skills that they value, and where there is a clear, meaningful purpose to the work they're doing. In fairly obvious ways, cycling ticks the first two boxes. How I find meaning in the sport is a question I've stewed over since I began doing it.

There's a kind of life cycle arch to the cycling career of most serious cyclists. A flirtation stage, as they're getting to know themselves and the paradoxically delicious and repulsive cultural nuance of the sport. A stage of deep infatuation, as they immerse themselves into the culture and spend nearly all their time and more than all their money creating a cycling self. A stage of escalated commitment, as cyclists reach the initial boundary of their natural talent, realize the commitment it will take to be excellent and begin to make that commitment. Then, sooner for some and later for others, resignation... Better understanding their physical, mental, emotional, and lifestyle constraints (i.e. the cost of the sport), cyclists decide how much they can give to the sport and then proceed to give it less...every year, a little less.

There are some of us, quite few really, who resist resignation. Terminally. We can feel it. It's there. It's the hungry lion that, were we to stumble, would close its angry jaws around our fleshy shaved thighs in a heartbeat.

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Why do you keep riding bikes?

Tomorrow (as I expect day 3 to be the most difficult of the 6), the answer may have as much to do with stubbornness than anything else. Will. Determination. Grit. Proving a thing to myself (because no one else really cares). Because I can. Because I choose to.

Every December, as I begin to ramp up the miles and plot out the next year's training goals, I reflect on the places cycling might take me. Every year. And cycling has taken me to some amazing places. Here's to the new places that tomorrow will bring.