A Journey of 50,000 Miles
I just biked my fifty-thousandth mile.
How to put 50,000 miles into a meaningful context? Well, let’s take a little road trip. Start out by driving from New York City across America to Seattle, Washington. That’s a start. Then drive down to Eugene, Oregon. That’s about how far I ride each year.
Then continue to drive down the entire west coast from Eugene to San Diego, California. From there, drive all the way back across the southern tier of states until you get to Atlanta, Georgia. Then drive up the east coast back to New York to complete one big lap around the United States.
Of course, that’s not quite far enough. That whole loop around the United States? Go back and do it a second time. And a third, and a fourth. Keep driving back and forth around the continent until you reach New York to finish your seventh round trip. Then you’ll still need to drive up to Springfield, Massachusetts to finally reach 50,000 miles.
Doesn’t sound like the easiest road trip in the world, does it?
Now picture doing that distance on a bicycle. While my route was a little different, that’s exactly what I’ve done.
Mind you, it took me fifteen and three-quarter years to accomplish that. That averages out to 3,175 miles per year, or 61 miles per week, every week, for nearly 16 years.
I finished my first 25,000 miles back in 2009; that had taken me 8.5 years, but the second 25k only took 7.25 more, as I averaged 500 more miles per year.
This week I also broke 100,000 feet of climbing for 2016. Translating that into real-world numbers, that’s 19 miles of vertical, or three and a half climbs up Mt. Everest. That’s not unheard-of, as I surpassed that much climbing in both 2010 and 2014. But in those years, I hit that threshold at the end of September. Compared to that, I’ve already completed an entire year’s worth of climbing before the end of June. A record pace? No question.
Do I have anything pithy to say about these accomplishments? Not really. Since back in 2000, cycling has just been what I do. At this point it’s just a lifestyle, with all its ups and downs.
Solo rides. Group rides. Charity rides. Night rides. Memorial rides. Ocean views. Mountain climbs. Nervous descents. Magical tailwinds. The beating summer sun. Urban flow. Winter commutes. Trying new roads. Early season long-distance brevets. The bike-washing ritual. Roadside repairs. Learning what that part does, and how to fix it. The pride of showing off a new bike.
Post-ride war stories. Sugar, sugar, and more goddamned sugar. Then feasting like a Roman emperor. Learning the lingo and the reasons why cyclists do things the way they do. Stinging road rash. Broken collarbones. Admiring clean-shaven calf muscles. Admiring preposterous tan lines. Learning exactly how much the mind and body are (and are not) capable of, and seeing them grow in strength and skill and confidence over time. Connecting with others who share the passion. Sharing what one has learned with others who travel the same road.
The cyclist inhabits a strange world, full of its own hidden rewards and meanings. It must seem like a very strange life to the driver and the pedestrian, who can only conceive of pedaling 50,000 miles as the most abject torture. But for the cyclist, it is a life full of passion and pain and achievement and the most sublime pleasures. And it has been a tremendous source of happiness and well-being for me.
Life is a journey, and as a wise man once wrote: the road goes ever on and on.