I sat on an old mountain bike the other day – a bike so ancient the head angle was practically backwards – and wondered how it could ever have been fun to ride, or even rideable at all.
It was a fleeting thought.
Within seconds, I had revisited jumps, turns, road trips, races and innumerable good times burned into my memory by that wonderful machine. (I searched for the many red-hot-disc-brake reminders seared into my leg, too, but those had faded away.)
It’s incredible how the sensations we experience riding bikes – any old heaps – can stay with us for life. Those feelings of disconnection and timelessness can be revisited whenever we lack inspiration and are unable to get out on the trails.
I can close my eyes and re-ride some of my favourite corners, I can pedal down the start ramp of my first-ever race (best feeling of my life, even when the chain jammed one metre later) or simply roll down the road in the sunshine at the end of a day out with mates.
Anyway, I guess what this all comes back to is that much-overused and frankly quite cheesy expression, It’s not the size of the wheel, it’s the smile you feel. (Sorry.) The point is, forget new stuff, grab a bike whenever you can (dust it off if needed) and remind yourself what flow really means.
Cheers,
James
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