Outside bike
I have a bike that I use for long rides. The one I use to escape the city and do rides from sunrise to sundown. After a ride, before going to the wall in the basement, no matter how tired I am, I would wipe it clean. Every 150 km, I would refresh the chain with a special formula of wax. To protect it from punctures, every 3 months I would fill tires with fluid that is made out of recycled carbon. At any moment, I am ready to remove the cassette, degrease it, service the disc brakes, take apart jockey wheels, and deep clean every nook and cranny. I find this both comforting and relaxing. Bike maintenance is my meditation.
But then there is also the other bike - the one I call the outside bike. The one I have been riding almost every other day since I bought it on the second-hand market from a burly handyman. The bike is always outside, in the sun, rain, or snow, chained in the apartment backyard. This bike doesn't travel far, but it does a lot. It is the bike I jump on when I need to cycle to pick up a parcel, or when I am rushing to pick my son from daycare. It waits patiently for me in front of cinemas or for days on end at train stations. This weekend I loaded this bike with three bags filled with groceries, and it just wobbled for a sec until I found my place on the seat.
The burly handyman had another bike up for sale, but once I was at his place, he decided to sell this one. He told me, "My problem is when I see a bike I like, I have to buy it," and then he turned on the light in his garage where at least two dozen bikes of the same size were standing. There were a couple of road bikes, a time-trial bike, a few MTBs, and at least three city bikes. My outside bike was leaning against the wall, covered with cheesy stickers."This is the bike when I go out on dates," he introduced it to me, "but it turns out the girls I like don't like the bikes I like." He agreed to sell it on the condition that I not remove the stickers. I kept my promise, and the stickers of smiling death and banana are still there.
In the last six years, I've rarely oiled its chain, and I spent more time installing the basket on it than any other work. And the bike still moves effortlessly. The bulky gearbox, compared to the fancy one on my other bike, is built like a tank, but it rarely skips the gears. Riding with a set of touring MTB tires, the whole bike is stable and silent.
After six years, I surprised it this weekend with a new pair of disc pads and rotors. For the last few weeks, the brakes have been making high-pitched screeches every time I use them - a clear signal that the service is overdue. After a quick service, I parked it outside, locked it, and was in awe of the simplicity it brings to my life.
When I ride long distances, I meticulously plan the calories I'll take in, my hydration strategy, and where I'll stop to rest. With an outside bike, I just jump on it and pedal. The best way I can explain it is: I love long-distance and everything that comes with it, but I find joy in less convoluted cycling.
Maybe this is an ode to cycling, and a testament that cycling can be so many things. Or maybe this is how I just like to operate - do something really hard and offset it with something really simple.
Or maybe this is what I want this blog to be for me - just an outside bike.