Written while cycling across Canada.

Cycling is…

A succession of never-agains. As tourists we pass through towns and lives and businesses in one direction, and returning to a place often feels unusual. I noticed this when eating breakfast at a restaurant I’d had a beer at the night before, and doing so stood out as a novelty.

Temporary companionships, with varying lengths of temporary. Ranging from short conversations in gas station forecourts, to shared campsite evenings and breakfasts, to a few days spent riding together. Encounters are fleeting but enriching.

An ever-expanding patchwork of knowledge. People value different things and have their own unique experiences to recount and advice to share, so we accumulate a great cross-section of knowledge by talking to them. Mine includes Canadian history, local tips, Quebecois slang, opinions on the world, solutions to its various problems, and a bunch more.

An ever-expanding network of kindred folk. Each town is a new grapevine to hear things through, and a bike is uniquely good at attracting conversation and curiosity. I have names and addresses of people across Canada: well-wishers who became friends, and people whose invites to chat, eat, or sleep will be paid forward in kind.

Gradual depletions. Of energy, food, money, cleanliness, quality of gear, lubrication of moving parts, concerns about wild-camping or encountering bears.

Gradual increases. Of endurance, daily distances, distances between rest stops, stories to tell afterwards, people met, names learned, moments shared.

Delayed gratifications. You think about a cold soda for thirty miles before you can sate the thirst and wash away the fatigue of cycling for two hours. You know there’s a toilet in the next section, but you don’t know exactly where.

Inordinate pleasure in restoring yourself to the baseline. Laundry is a privilege, as is a cup of proper coffee in the morning. On rest days in towns, sleeping in a bed is incomparable to a tent and sleeping bag and roll-mat, but at the end of each day’s ride, tent and sleeping bag and roll-mat feels luxurious.

Arbitrary decisions. Our destination, route, time-frame, diet, budget, bed time and attitude are completely up to us. Many times my friend and I found ourselves walking with conviction through a town for several minutes before realising neither of us know where we’re going, then bumping into someone or something interesting that made the decision for us. Curating some of the experience and having this supplemented by random encounters is rewarding and liberating.

Small accomplishments. Getting to the top of a hill is an achievement, and one you can enjoy multiple times in a day. This is why hills are preferable to headwind: even though you put in the same effort riding each, you can turn around an look at what you’ve achieved when you hit the top. Arriving in a town that was 80 miles away that morning gives you a buzz of satisfaction every time. As does looking at the ever-longer lines being made on maps.

Occasional hassles. These are inevitable, manageable and forgettable (except for the lessons you learn to prevent them happening again).

Cycling is small, simple, frequent and constant pleasures.