Christmas

When I write, I do so to an imaginary ideal reader. That reader is smart, smarter than me, well-read, funny and devoted to cycling in a way we devote ourselves to anything that we recognize brings out the best in us. To the degree that my fantasy reader is less than who you are, I apologize, and to those of you who think that exaggerates your general and/or specific awesomeness, indulge me; you’ve got a sympathetic audience.

Writing for Belgium Knee Warmers, then Red Kite Prayer and now the Cycling Independent has given me a gift greater than anything I’ve unwrapped at Christmas, and your audience is what has made this possible. It would be easy to underestimate that value of you, our audience, but I don’t. The work that I first began publishing at Belgium Knee Warmers in the vein I continue to mine to this day is of a composition that was peculiar in its day. Put another way, I’d pitched some of the ideas I pursued in those early pieces to editors at the biggest domestic magazines at the time and I was turned down, repeatedly.

But I knew there was an audience whose experience in cycling was like mine.

I didn’t know it when I first felt the urge to write about cycling, but that hunger came from a place of wanting to elevate the value of cycling in our lives, how it gives to us in myriad ways, from better physical health to better mental health and the sorts of adventures that keep wonder alive in each of us. I believe that cycling deserves to be lauded as a spiritual practice, rather than dismissed as a hobby.

I’m an introvert, which is part of why I’m so prone to introspection; it’s easy for me to keep to myself, so writing about other people helps keep me engaged with capital P People. I’ve never seen this as a bulwark against isolation, though I know it is one of my best resources. Meeting other cyclists never fails to make my world richer.

Friends have commented to me that it was all but inevitable that I would wind up romantically entwined with someone I met through cycling, someone I first wrote about. As someone who doesn’t entertain the fantasy of destiny, I’m less certain, which makes the entry of Jennifer into my heart far more wondrous to me than it does the rest of the world.

In a way, she has epitomized that ideal reader. She’s smarter than a Mensa mixer, as well-read as a librarian and prone to outbursts that would have forced me to my knees splurting guffaws had there not been a chair nearby. As to her love of cycling, she wears it effortlessly, with the class of someone who has nothing to prove.

What I’m saying is that I’d never have met someone so wonderful, had I not enjoyed the good fortune to be gifted such a rich and wonderful audience. Thanks for reading.