A bike will do a lot of things for you. It’ll move you from one place to another. It’ll give you an adventure. It’ll make you healthier. It’ll help you connect with other people. It’ll make the world less polluted and safer too. But I’d wager, if it wasn’t fun, we wouldn’t do it. In other words, there are other ways to accomplish all the things I just mentioned, but people like us choose to accomplish them by bike, and I think that’s because it’s more fun than the other options.
I was in Atlanta last week, and I got to ride bikes with our own Raymond Epstein. He showed me his local trails, and while it wasn’t an easy ride, it was really fun, from beginning to end.
Now, before we go any further, let’s talk about the two primary types of fun, Type 1 and Type 2. Type 1 is the one you see on kids’ faces, the kind that makes you happy right in the moment of experience. Kids know Type 1 fun much better than adults, and I think we could all stand to take a lesson. The other type is Type 2, which is where you get the good feelings later. Asynchronous fun. Think of it as the opposite of survivor’s guilt. You go through something difficult, and then after you feel a happiness or elation for having made it. Adults get this better than kids do, for whatever that’s worth.
Of course, most rides combine the types in different ratios, but again, I’d wager most adults are leaning more into Type 2 fun than Type 1. I feel as though, over the last couple years, I’ve been trying to rebalance my equation a bit. I envision an old school equalizer or mixing board, and I’m fiddling with the knobs trying to get things just right.
At the beginning of the pandemic, I was going through a lot of personal turmoil. I left a job. I lost my dad and then my brother in quick succession. My mom had breast cancer. The world shut down. And my answer to all of this was to go hard, to dial the Type 2 up to nearly 100%. Suddenly I had a lot of time on my hands, and I told myself I wanted to see how fit I could get, but subconsciously, I think I was looking for some kind of catharsis, some way to convert the emotional pain I was going through into physical pain that I could then master.
It worked in some ways and broke me down in some others. I think the net result was positive, but there were costs too, to both my physical and mental health.
Once I broke down physically, which really happened at the end of last year, I realized that really the only way forward was with a lot more Type 1 fun in the mix. I’d been to the mountain, so to speak, and I learned that it’s cold and uncomfortable up there, and hard to breathe.
So my riding has become a lot more playful. I meander a lot more. I stop and put a foot down more. I look at birds. I talk with friends. I session obstacles. Man, I love to session a challenging obstacle.
None of this is to say that if you really prefer Type 2 fun, you’re doing it wrong. We’re all at different places in the story. We need different things from the bike. I do wonder though, how many of us are continuing to toil away at the pedals looking for a release that just isn’t coming but might be accessible if we changed the mix a little bit.
Where are you with this?
Where I am is feeling my choices validated and easier to choose because you’re writing about this. Thanks.
I’ve done the type 2 stuff in the past (centuries, CX races, epic all day mtb slogs). However the majority of my rides now are exemplified by what I showed you. Usually they are two hours +/- with some tolls to be paid, but mostly chock full of opportunities to get out of control such that you can’t help but grin or laugh.
Timely piece, as usual, Robot. One of the really great things about having metastatic cancer is that many of these decisions are made for me. I can no longer tear it up like I used to, so I slow down and soak it in. I have more great photographs from routes and views and cycling, in general, from the last few years than I had from all the prior decades. I set up very slow-motion goals. For example, I have lost 16 pounds since last September, just being careful about what I eat, and doing lots of climbing on the bike when I’m in California. I ride alone, mostly, because I’m just too slow now to ride with friends looking for a workout (though I’m always happy to meet them for a beer somewhere at the end of our respective rides).
As cyclists, we know suffering can be fun. Climbing is the kind of suffering I really enjoy. A mile or so on a 10-14% grade cleans out a lot of crap in my body and my mind.
By the way, a friend gave me a brilliant book of (road) cycling photography for my birthday, “The Art of Suffering,” by photographer Kristof Ramon. Incredible imagery. Well worth the investment for those who love cycling.
Uh, you had me at “One of the really great things about having metastatic cancer…”. Just want to say I wish you well and I love your outlook on things.
This is why I love reading your stuff and listening to Revolting. You so often seem to be encountering similar…dilemmas?, if we can call them that. Type 2 fun for me involves leaving from my front door on my loaded bike and riding on a combo of paved bike paths, shoulders of busy state highways and gravel double track roads to get to camping. In itself it’s an adventure, but doesn’t leave me with much energy for much else when I get there. I have recently started indulging in more of the type 1 fun in which I load up my car with camping gear and my bike, drive to the camp site, then spend the rest of the day setting up camp, then riding with snacks and fishing gear along the river looking for tranquil places to hang out and eat, fish, and just enjoy the scenery and fresh air. As far balancing type 1 and type 2 fun goes, I don’t know if there’s a formula for that, but I still enjoy both. Maybe it helps if there’s a little type 1 within the type 2, like a bakery stop on the way to the camp site.
Thank you for this piece, Robot. But I suggest we might also want to consider the less talked-about Type 3 Fun. Stuff that was supposed to be fun but ended up just being horrible and is no way fun, even in deep retrospect. We’ve all had those days on a bike, also known as the Death March. The kind of ride that is definitely no fun at all, even when you’re recounting it years later to your buddies.
For me, it was a long fully loaded tour down the Sunshine Coast of British Columbia in June with my first wife. 23 days of unrelenting rain, and the beginning of the end of our marriage. Definitely Type 3 Fun.