There are times when I believe that cycling is the only reason why I have anything that can be described as mental or emotional health. I become sad, even depressed, when I can't ride for significant periods of time. Also, I took two bike tours that were, at least in part, attempts to restore myself to some degree of sanity, and another led me to the single most important transformation I had to make.
The latter ride took me up the Col du Galibier as well as other famed Tour de France and Giro d'Italia climbs in the Alps. I started that tour in Lyon, France as a guy named Nick. Two years later, I began my current life as a middle-aged lady named Justine.
The other two tours followed crises in my life, one of which culminated in a sort of minor breakdown. In both of those rides, I spent weeks--actually, months on the first tour--on my bike in foreign lands, living on a student's wages or less. Don't get me wrong: I experienced all sorts of pleasures on both of those rides, as well as the one in the Alps. But they also were power-washes, if you will, against the detritus of some past experiences that had been causing me even more internal distress than I'd realized--or, perhaps, was willing to admit.
So when I came across Rafael's story, I felt as if I'd met someone after my own heart. Of course, I don't imagine that his ride from Mexico City to Colorado will lead him to the sorts of changes I made. But he does talk about the restorative powers of his ride, and how it led him to a mission, if you will: fixing bicycles for underprivileged people in his newly-adopted community.
The next time someone asks you why you ride, ask yourself (and that person): What would your life be like if you didn't ride?
The latter ride took me up the Col du Galibier as well as other famed Tour de France and Giro d'Italia climbs in the Alps. I started that tour in Lyon, France as a guy named Nick. Two years later, I began my current life as a middle-aged lady named Justine.
The other two tours followed crises in my life, one of which culminated in a sort of minor breakdown. In both of those rides, I spent weeks--actually, months on the first tour--on my bike in foreign lands, living on a student's wages or less. Don't get me wrong: I experienced all sorts of pleasures on both of those rides, as well as the one in the Alps. But they also were power-washes, if you will, against the detritus of some past experiences that had been causing me even more internal distress than I'd realized--or, perhaps, was willing to admit.
So when I came across Rafael's story, I felt as if I'd met someone after my own heart. Of course, I don't imagine that his ride from Mexico City to Colorado will lead him to the sorts of changes I made. But he does talk about the restorative powers of his ride, and how it led him to a mission, if you will: fixing bicycles for underprivileged people in his newly-adopted community.
The next time someone asks you why you ride, ask yourself (and that person): What would your life be like if you didn't ride?
