I rode almost four thousand miles that year, all of them fixed gear, all of them alone. I discovered the parks, 9W, river road, and many other popular NY routes riding all by myself, with just my thoughts and my music. I pushed myself very hard, harder than I do most training rides now. I made sure that it hurt, and I rode through the pain in my legs. I didn't know why; it just felt like the right thing to do, and I enjoyed it. Riding became my outlet, and weekend mornings were my escape. I would axiously await Saturdays, and on really bad weekdays, I'd go ride at night.

As everything else in my life seemed stuck in limbo, I did four centuries and two triathlons on this bike. I didn't know any better than to not ride fixed for these things, but I also didn't really care. It felt like accomplishment, and I needed that. I got pretty good at riding fixed, and I got pretty fit as a result of riding so much. It may sound ridiculous now, but the side-effect of improving my health re-taught my how to take control of myself again. It was bikes that held me up during my depression, and it was bikes that helped me climb out.