The Interruptor

I’ve had several conversations in the past six months or so with cyclists who have had life get in the way of their riding. The reasons have been all over the map: travel—both work and for pleasure—work, injuries, parenting, or, on occasion, some other interest that has cut in on this dance. 

John and I did a show sometime back about depression and how that can keep you off the bike, and that really did deserve a whole show of its own. What I’ve been thinking about, based on these conversations, has been different from that. What I’ve been thinking about is further upstream. 

For me, a central truth in my life is that if I stop riding, I become depressed. There is absolutely a causal relationship for me, and certainly for plenty of other cyclists I’ve talked to over the years. To me, the bottom line about depression is that there is only one answer: Get back on the bike. It doesn’t matter how much, though I’d say six hours a week is where I start to see a noticeable improvement in my mood. 

What I’ve been thinking about, like I said, is farther upstream: Those things that cut into cycling time. This is the point when our riding is down, but we would still describe ourselves as in good spirits. 

I’ve raised this, in part, because I’m seeing this through a fresh lens. For most of my adult life, if anything other than parenting got in the way of my riding I could be, uh, difficult. Almost never deliberately, but I’m perfect the way Buggs Bunny is dull. In those situations, the moment I could carve out more time to ride, I simply did. And if I’m being totally honest, there were times when my boys were younger where me not getting time to ride was super challenging. I wasn’t happy about it, but my boys came first. 

What’s different now is that, as I’ve shared previously, I’m finishing a novel that I’ve been working on for multiple years. I’m close now, very close and this thing is requiring a level of brain power that has me looking at long, hard rides and going, “I can’t. I can’t be wrecked from a ride. I need that energy to pour into this book. This is maybe only the second time other than my boys where I have willingly taken time from cycling to devote to something else, and I’m not resentful. It’s a relief, but it’s also a concern. 

So on one hand, I’ve got a project that is, at times, utterly consuming. I have to work to not talk about writing and books and fiction, and the harder I work at that, the happier everyone seems to be. On the other hand, I know that if I stop riding, that’s a train to depression town. I recognize that I need to take care of myself for a variety of reasons. I’ve got dozens of reasons to stay on the bike, but the bottom line is easy: no riding equals depression. 

My particular solution to this isn’t important. I’m bringing this up because I suspect most of our listeners have experienced this to one degree or another. What I recognize is that cycling elevates mood. We’re all better centered when we ride. And I know for myself, that if my mood suffers, my work does as well. That’s true with TCI and The Paceline as well as with my fiction. 

To resolve this, I’ve learned that I have to ask myself a couple of questions. The first one is: Will going on a ride cause me to leave something unfinished—because that’s what it always feels like lately—or does it just feel that way because I’m on a roll? The other one is: How long has it been since I last rode? I’m trying to ride every other day, but I go easy on myself it it has been two days since I rode. I don’t permit myself to go three days without riding. And sometimes, such as right now, I have to define a ride as 40 minutes of errand-running on my ebike. 

If it’s true that history is told by the victors, and if riding a bike is winning, then I have every right to call errand-running a ride.