Here we have a missive from friend Bence Balla in Budapest, which is alliterative. He’s sharing an experience some of us “hardcore” cyclists have learned over time, that you always think you know how to do it, until someone shows you how little you really know.
There’s that cover of The New Yorker, from a good decade ago with a lady at a bikeshare dock on the street facing people working out on stationary bikes through the window, which has been popping up in my social media feed time to time to my contentment “as a real cyclist”, affirming my feeling of superiority over people spinning inside; why don’t these people just bike to places instead of traveling to a gym and riding an exercise bike?
Cut to … my thighs are lightly burning from pedaling out of the saddle for more than 3 minutes, sweat dripping off my chin like the vapor streams down on the steamy window next to me while I keep pushing at the rhythm of the BPM-controlled techno, and in the flashing lights first I look at the mothers in their forties and fifties around me in slight disbelief (they joined the class straight after finishing a fitness training in the other room and they don’t seem to struggle much) then at the instructor in front of me and we share a smile.
It started with booking a winter trip with my wife to a place where longer bike rides are basically mandatory, so much so that many pro teams go there to prepare for the road season. Though being a good cyclist (actually way better than me on a mountain bike), she’s not been riding much lately; so in the weeks before leaving we’ve planned having training rides, but after the first one in the icy wind of late December, considering she’s already spending much time outside in the winter weather because of her job anyway, she just looked for and quickly found a studio close to our place with daily spin classes. There was one just that evening which she decided to give a try and asked me if I’d join. Maybe it was the New Year’s mood or the fact that she already introduced me to other sports I would otherwise have never tried, maybe just being a supportive partner, even more likely the intension of finally proving myself right about a class like this being lame that made me say yes.
They have the analog exercise bikes with a big flywheel so there are no coasting or brakes, only the adjustment of resistance—surprisingly similar to the feeling or riding fixed gear. The loud music, though not my type for sure and should mostly serve to set the cadence and the moderate disco lights are making me feel at a party, only that we are “dancing on the pedals” if I might, in a warm room while there’s snow outside. It’s now easy to see why people can really get into this stuff. I’m having a good time during the class and a hard time taking the steps down when we are leaving, because after all, this turns out to be tougher on my legs than I expected and tougher than my usual 1-hour road ride which should keep those legs in shape.
A bit later, scrolling through my Strava feed, the virtual activities make me think, “You need to buy a smart trainer,” which in itself costs 50-100 classes and then come the other gadgets, a potential subscription—all paid to fairly big companies on the other side of the world. More importantly: you are alone, watching a screen, amid a global loneliness epidemic and the desperate struggle to reduce screen time. While going to this class, we joined some strangers (being strangers only until the second class), shared the struggle and then the high-fives in the end, smiling, connecting with other human beings. Our money supported a local business and an instructor, plus I won’t have gear to throw out when it’s broken, outdated or just uninteresting already.
Of course, nothing beats riding outside on a bike. But if you only want to train for other rides outside and cannot put up with the weather, I rather vote for a spin-class than a home-trainer.
