Floundering in a sea of red brake lights on Highway 17, miles from my exit, I had to acknowledge two hard truths. The first was that I had gravely miscalculated how long it’d take to get home from my ride, leading to the second hard truth: There would be no time for a shower. I would be going to dinner with hair that smelled like my trail helmet, which smells like an old dishrag.

I had promised my sister that I’d be home from riding by 4 p.m. I screeched into the driveway at 4:43 and roared through the house, casting aside sweaty bike clothing, wiping mud splatters off my neck with a towel, and grabbing leftovers to wolf down in the car. We made it to my friend’s San Francisco loft just 20 minutes late. As I greeted everyone with a hug, hoping my perfume masked the scent of dishrag hair, I felt a little guilty for being late. I also felt like I had gotten away with something.

Some say that being a cyclist is a lifestyle. I think it’s more like having a second, “shadow life” that you have to keep a watchful eye on to prevent it from imploding your real life. Being a cyclist requires a continual negotiation between indulging your very time-consuming hobby and not being a terrible human being to everyone else in your life who doesn’t ride.

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Sorry I’m late, the ride took longer than I thought it would.

Think about how annoying we must be to our noncycling loved ones: We’re never available for any midday activity. Brunch? You mean a three-hour, midmorning meal that leaves me comatose the rest of the day? Rather ride. Lunch? Sure, if you don’t mind waiting until 3 p.m. Hike? Wouldn’t it be more fun to pedal to whatever site is the focal point of all that walking?

When I do make myself available, I’m obnoxiously strategic about it. Every time my best friend, who’s not a cyclist, asks when we can hang out next, I calculate to the next Saturday I’d be willing to (grudgingly) sacrifice: Maybe after that stage race or 100-mile ride or weeklong bike trip I’ll need a break from my bike. Or I try to turn a family get-together into a one-way bike tour with free shuttle service back home.

And besides being late because “the ride took longer I thought it would,” I’m also the worst dinner party guest. I either ate lunch at 3 p.m. and have no appetite, or I’m a ravenous monster who demolishes all the guac and cheese cubes on my own. Oh, and I have to go home early because, y’know…riding tomorrow.

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Sometimes I hear cyclists say that “I’m a better mom/dad/husband/wife/partner if I get my ride in.” But let’s be honest: Our rides are primarily self-serving. And even if they’re not, we too often miscalculate.

I’ve been late to a friend’s wedding because I tried to “squeeze in” a 70-mile ride. I missed another friend’s beach weekend after getting lost on my 100-mile ride to the Jersey Shore. When this happens, I feel a mix of shame and guilt. Why does it always feel like such a compromise to me to do anything with a beautiful Saturday or a warm summer evening but ride a bike? Why can’t I just be normal?

Will my bike fit in your trunk if I take the wheels off?

Because I’m not normal. I’m a cyclist. People use the word “addicted” to describe us, and from the outside looking in, our need must seem compulsive. But it’s not a simple matter of being hooked on endorphins or exercise. If that were the case, we could run (so efficient! So inexpensive!) or do CrossFit or any other activity that takes less time, equipment, and preparation.

For cyclists, the ride is more than a dependence. The ride is the absolute best possible way we can imagine to spend a day. On the ride, we feel alive in a way that can elude us in the rest of our lives. On the bike, I express a different side of myself, I find a favorite version of me. Maybe all this is just a roundabout way of saying some of us are just hardwired to love this sport.

But dammit, we love you too, noncyclists. That’s why we even attempt the balancing act: the early-morning wake-ups, the bikes schlepped to and fro at great inconvenience (and sometimes great expense). God knows we try, even though we don’t always get it right.

So to everyone who doesn’t ride but loves one of us anyway: Sorry, and thank you. Sorry for being late all the time. Thank you for accepting us for who we are, and for not making us choose between who we love and what we love. On our end, we promise to keep striving to do better, and to be there when it matters—even if we’re not always there for brunch.

How to Be a Better Cyclist Human Being

My best friend Kelsey has been putting up with my BS for years, and also happens to be a professional therapist. I asked her for tips on how we can be better to our noncycling loved ones. Here’s what she advises.

Make exceptions to your schedule for important occasions/trips/events. Try new activities from time to time. Reduce judgment for activities that aren’t cycling. Plan rides ahead of time to improve your chances of having enough time to shower and arriving on time. Bring snacks for the people who show up to watch you race/ride. Be super-thoughtful about the rides you take your noncyclist loved ones on. Increase the variety of conversation topics you engage in. Invite them to do things that aren’t riding. Don’t forget about the passions you had prior to your bicycle. Nurture your shared interests, and remember the intent of your friendship or relationship.—Kelsey Van Selous, M.S.W., L.C.S.W.

Gloria Liu Contributing Writer, Bicycling & Runner’s World Gloria Liu is a writer-at-large, and formerly the features and gear editor at Bicycling.

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