"If constellations had been named in the 20th century, I suppose we would see bicycles." -- Carl Sagan
Pedaling through the refreshing mist of an Appalachian morning, I suddenly realize this is my last week on the tour. There is the excitement of finishing something huge. The sadness of beautiful endings - a preemptive nostalgia. I am determined to let this morning sink in. To focus on the ride and nothing else. No cameras, no photographs. Just my body, my mind, my bicycle, and the world. I look deeply at the lone tree on the hill, barely visible through the fog. I focus on the cemetery ahead of me and notice the weathered whitewash of the church next to it. I breathe fully, living and dying with each pedal stroke. I speak to my muscles as they flex and release, push and pull. I listen intently to the dense silence of clouds - the only sound is the gentle hiss of my tires on the pavement, rolling through mile after mile of this place, this idea, this thing we call America.
Cycling is a sport. Cycling is a hobby. An activity. It is for fun and for transportation. Cycling is and can be so many different things for so many different people, but sooner or later cycling becomes a lifestyle, a way of living. What began for me as a fun and exciting weekend of mountain biking as a kid in junior high school has finally grown into a full-fledged self-supported bicycle tour across the country. For this period of my life, I feel immensely fortunate to be able to literally exist on my bicycle, with no other occupation than living and traveling through this world on two wheels and a crankset. There is something almost magical about the bicycle, about moving on your own, fueled only by your legs and lungs, about being outside in the sun, the wind, the rain, and the bugs.
While on the tour I have learned that to bicycle is to sort through life. To leave behind that which should be left behind - broken fenders, headwinds, and loads of roadkill - and to focus only on what is important - moving forward, the road, and the machine that takes you there.
The more time I spend on the bicycle and the more time I spend around cyclists, the more convinced I become that the magical quality of the bicycle lifestyle is its constant positivity. In our world of overproduction, overconsumption, and consistent overstimulation, the bicycle - in its pure and self-sustaining simplicity - is always and inevitably something positive. This is why communities like Boulder, where cycling is a high priority, are so special.
Building on the inherent positivity of the bicycle, my cross-country tour is working to benefit SafeHouse Denver, a local women's and children's domestic violence shelter. It is my hope that cycling, as a worldwide community and a positive social force, can help benefit what I believe is one of the most widespread and vicious illnesses plaguing our society.
Click here to learn more about the AntiCycle project and to find out how you can become a part of it.
Pedal well!
