Addiction is typically defined as a bad thing. Addiction to drugs, to alcohol, sex or even work is usually portrayed as a condition to be battled, to overcome. The same sources may recommend a strict regime of regular exercise and healthy living as the perfect antidote to the bad addictions that befall an overwhelming majority of the general populace. We are convinced that an ‘exercise addict’, ‘gym junkie’ or ‘health nut’ is a tag that we should be proud to hang around our necks, not something to be fought. But take away the words ‘exercise’, ‘gym’ and ‘health’, and all you’re left with is an undesirable character of questionable sanity with bad skin and rotten teeth. And no-one wants to be that person.
I’ve known, and know, a lot of people with a lot of addictions during my life. Moreso, I’ve been/am one myself. Both good and bad. The one unifying addiction throughout has been Cycling. It seems Cyclists are of the predisposition that doing something, anything, is best done to excess. I don’t really have any Cycling friends who ‘just do it on the weekends’, as one might play golf or go to the movies or ballroom dancing. Ok, those ballroom dancers seem to be a bit obsessed, too. But Cyclists, no matter how hard they try to kick the habit just seem to keep coming back, over and over again. And I’ve never heard a doctor or so-called expert tell a Cyclist to give that shit up before it sends them to an early grave. So what we’ve got ourselves is a ‘good addiction’.
Long before I ever read the tale of Guns n Roses’ bassist Duff McKagan’s pancreas exploding and his subsequent absolution through mountain biking (in BIKE magazine sometime in the 90s), I’d been fighting my own demons, and using the bike to help conquer them. Still am. Being a hard-drinking/drugging bassist (then later a DJ) and mountain biker myself at the time, I drew a lot of comparisons between us. I took some inspiration from his story, despite not being a fan of the band, and used it to tip the balance in favour of riding rather than partying.
I’d also been surrounded by a lot of other Cyclists who had delved a lot further into the sport than I ever had, and who had their own personal battles to fight. Some were up against alcoholism, others drugs, depression, or failed relationships. And on more than a few occasions, I heard the term “saved by the bike” quoted. Among all the turmoil, in the maelstrom of a life gone awry, their constant saving grace, the rock on which they could rebuild a solid foundation for happiness, or at least some form of normality – contentment, perhaps – was the bicycle. It was always there for them, silent, trustworthy, reliable, even if many other aspects of their situation weren’t. I wouldn’t hesitate to wager that it still is there for most, if not all of them. I know it is for me, and always will be.
Whenever I need saving, I know where to look.
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Stalking these articles and comments for a few months now, but never felt truly compelled to reply until this one.
Been on and off the path of hard drinking and heading toward oblivion when, in a moment of clarity on my twenty-third birthday, decided to completely stop cold turkey. No weening down, no easing off, just stop. Having stopped before and never sticking with it, I knew something had to fill the gap, as self destructive behavior doesn't just go away.
Fortunately I had been riding on and off by myself, as well as once a week with a local shop's evening ride, and a few of the riders were nice enough to take me under their wing by bringing me out to the much faster and more difficult morning rides in the area. Quickly gained an appreciation for the incredible feeling this intensity of riding could give a person. Also became familiar with the incredible physical and mental suffering beyond which any bad night of drink could provide. And of course, I got my ass dropped. A lot.
Never was much of one for moderation, and have always done everything in excess. With hard drinking the gratification was immediate, however it only lasted as long as the drink and rewarded with nothing but pain and the anxiety of actions forgotten the next morning. Hard riding provided immediate pain and suffering which at times made one question their motives for participating, but rewarded with an incredible and lasting feeling of strength and accomplishment. Both activities when taken to excess could provide similar feelings of euphoria and excitement, but cycling provides a much more sustainable and lasting feeling, whereas the feelings provided by the drink fade into a hangover the next day.
The most grueling rides can completely crush my very will to live and make me never want to ride a bike again, however this feeling never lasts the ride. Even after a vicious headwind-both-ways 160km ride, 60km of which were taken at 45km/h before I succumbed to the pain and dropped off the group, leaving me to ride the remainder alone. Upon its completion I was left in a condition barely allowing me to unclip and climb off of my seat. Regardless, all I felt was pride at my accomplishment.
Almost a year after stopping I still don't consider myself an alcoholic, but would certainly not say I was in control of my life. Now however I will proudly call myself a cyclist, and finally have a feeling of control in my life, and my future, for the first time I can remember. A few years of my life have been wasted, quite literally, but now as I approach my twenty-fourth birthday I have everything to look forward to, and a welcome new addiction to tend to.
@ChrisO
"Is this the right room for an argument?"
@ElHardeen
Welcome! And hopefully this community will offer some help and encouragement as you get things together. Good luck.
@ElHardeen
Preach it, brother.
@ ElHardeen Welcome aboard
"It seems Cyclists are of the predisposition that doing something, anything, is best done to excess."
This is the perfect embodiment of the entirety of my life. I've been saved by the bike from unemployment.
@Jamie Cycling as a lifestyle or...otherwise? Competitive cycling, perhaps. Cycling to fill a void, cycling for enjoyment, thrill, pleasure, cycling for the social aspect.....or any other of the thousands of unspoken reasons we pull up our straps, rub some cream on our junk, saddle up and push the peddles day after day, through the sun, the fog, the sleet, the mist, the snow, the hail and the rain? I'd wager not.
Cycling indeed saved me from post-college athletic limbo. I needed some time away from the sport I'd given most of my life too after a bad experience in college with a negative, untrustworthy coach. I was living in a big city, I reluctantly joined a gym and was packed in with all the other 9-5ers grunting and sweaty after a day at a desk. I even started jogging. Standing waiting for a bus one morning I saw a guy cruise by on a bike. Why am I wasting my time standing here? I dipped a toe into commuting and now I'm a fervent Follower. Still haven't gone back to that sport.
Now the only problem is that I like riding so much I do it too often and have been in grad school limbo for too long. I have to make June a month largely off the bike but yes, consider me addicted.
Nice work, Brett!
Christ, this is like following the Who and Jimi on stage. I'm going to slink away for a while.
Bretto, really nice post. For unknown reasons I'm relatively steady so I'm always happy to be reminded of my luck there. And being a cyclist for over, gulp, thirty-five years, it has always been there. No getting drunk Saturday night as I have a ride on Sunday. I may not kill it on Sundays but I always want to be good enough. The athlete's life demands moderation in all things but our sport, where we must hammer our brains out. It's perfect.
If I wasn't a cyclist...I'm not sure what I'd be but it wouldn't be as good.
Three years ago I got my ass handed to me in the workplace - real daytime soap opera stuff reflecting the sickest organization I've ever seen. Before I was shown the door I found work in N Minnesota...but we had to walk away from our dream home, and my VMH the job she loved. It always sucks to get screwed-over, but middle age [when you're at the top of your game] is especially hard. Thoughts of returning to the bad old days of hard drinking and drugging came and went. Instead I returned to my bicycle.
I poured the Molotov cocktail of my anger and resentment out on the road...long solo rides, mostly. My family saw the change. They knew when I needed 'road time' and unselfishly gave their blessing. Over time, I got cleaned out by the stories authored and re-authored on the road. The hum of the drivetrain whilst being stretched-out over my machine suspends all the thinking in favor of the doing. Many demons have been exorcised thus. Though I'm a person of faith, I need to pair doing with believing - for me the bike bridges that gap.