It’s that moment again; I’m staring at a blank page, hands on the keyboard, thinking, thinking and thinking… “What should I write about this time?” And then all of a sudden my fingers start rushing up, down, left and right. The keys send signals through the complex machine that is a computer and words appear in front of me. Some words stay and some get erased before they are even completed; the plot thickens.
Cycling is an infinite source of inspiration for me, and staring at a blank page doesn’t mean I’m lost or without ideas… there are just so many options that I’m often not sure which one I should go with. I had at least two other scenarios in my mind for this particular occasion. First, I thought about describing my past rides and writing about all the cycling opportunities that the surrounding environment has to offer. Then I figured that would be too basic and wanted to write about my childhood and how I ended up here; writing and taking photos for a project conceived on the opposite side of our planet. But then again, maybe no one is interested in my story, so I’ve decided to take the safe option, the one that has always worked for me. I’ve decided to write down whatever comes to my mind.
When I’m on a bike, I often find myself thinking about other people that read and write about bikes all the time. How did they get to the point they’re at now, what do they think about when they are out there, are they out there right now, could it be that they are thinking the exact same thing at the exact same time? I feel stupid for thinking about all of this because I’m out there, riding bikes in amazing places, with great company, and instead of enjoying it, I’m thinking about stuff that I momentarily find irrelevant. That’s when I realize how lucky I am if that’s all that goes through my mind when I’m outside riding. There are real problems in the world, and at that moment they are not a part of my life, everything is simple, and I like it that way. I return home a better man, with a clear mind and a new experience under the belt. There’s this sentence Bob Dylan wrote in It’s Alright, Ma (I’m only bleeding) that’s been going through my head lately; “That he not busy being born, is busy dying”. It’s a powerful sentence that can be interpreted in many ways, but I like the idea of being born a lot more than the one of dying, and since I feel reborn every time I return from a bike ride, I think I’m doing things right.