For the last five years, vacation meant cycling. I couldn’t leave without my bike. My ride was my freedom. Today, after more than a week on vacation, I finally went for a tour.
I think I’m done. I think I’m gonna sell my bike.
See, I just got tired of going nowhere. Bike rides are a metaphor of my life: no matter how hard I push on the pedals, no matter how much energy I put into it, I get nothing out of it these days.
Sure, the bike helps a bit. Using its momentum, you get faster from point A to point B. The thing is you have to know where you are heading.
I thought I knew. Until I got to a dead end. Until there was no more wheel to suck. Up to the point where I was forced to face the wind by myself. Alone.
That’s when suddenly every pedal stroke gets tougher. That’s when you start asking yourself questions about keep going or not in this direction, or if you just want to turn around and go back home.
I chose the latter. I couldn’t see where that route was leading me anymore. Realizing it might have been that way for a long time, I was just too tired to look up to see I was the last rider up that tour, heading for the big hills solo.