Early this year, I finished reading Lance Armstrong’s book titled, “It’s Not About the Bike.” He is a professional road cyclist, and he has won the prestigious Tour de France seven times. He is a cancer survivor.

One of my favorite lines from the book says, “Cycling is hard; the suffering is so intense that it’s absolutely cleansing. You can go out there with the weight on your shoulders, and after a ride at a high pain threshold, you feel at peace.

The pain is so deep and strong that a curtain descends over your brain… at least for a while you don’t have to brood on your problems; you can shut everything out because the effort and subsequent fatigue are absolute.”

I like that. Because I get it.

I may not be a professional cyclist, but I bike for many reasons: to sweat out the lethargy out of my body and to unleash pent up emotions. I bike to think. I bike when the world seems to be chasing after me, and I want to run away.

Biking for me can become almost a sacred ritual. It takes you to that divine moment when the world becomes your stage. It allows my mind to wander as I fly with the breeze, pulling away farther and farther as I pedal. The first blow of wind against my face is something I eagerly anticipate; it is a form of rush. It is in these first few moments that I may have the perfect feeling of being unbound. It is exhilarating and literally, I am lifted high above the grounds. My spirit dances, and I feel alive within. I am transported to another dimension.

As my muscles cry out and start to ache after each pedal, so does my heart bellow. My skin is dampened by sweat, but it feels like spring. My pulse race, yet I am in a state of solitude. I am a lone rider, yet I commune. It is both effervescent and ethereal. And then slowly, I enter into an abyss of tranquillity.

Just the wind, my bike, and me.

How I wish I can bike endlessly. I forget about the time. I actually forget about a lot of things while riding my bike. My bike has become an extension of myself. It is my silent friend. I can’t wait to ride my bike again. It almost feels like I’m coming home.

I can agree with Lance Armstrong. It really is not about the bike.

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