The world lies to us every day. It lies so casually and persistently, we hardly notice.
Of course, not all lies are malevolent. We like being lied to, especially the silken deceptions of flattery. But it doesn’t really help us to be told we’ve lost some weight, when we haven’t. It’s like that second piece of pie — delicious, perhaps, but something which looks more appetizing on the plate than around our waist.
The bicycle as truth-teller
Bikes are incapable of lying. Rubber and steel lack the artifice of flesh and blood.
A bike will never fib about your physical condition. If you’re tired, it will tell you. If you’re strong, it will tell you that, too.
No bicycle will ever mislead about your surroundings. If there is a grade or rough section of road, you’ll know it. There’s no climate control system to turn a July afternoon into a spin through the Swiss alps. A bike won’t hide the consequence of the distances which separate us from people and places we love, nor will it conjure the shimmering petroillusion of movement without the expenditure of energy.
Your bike never lies. You may not like how muscle sometimes tires of its conversation with the highway, but you will clearly follow the discussion.
The road begins here
You learn a lot about yourself when you ride. The interesting thing about this objectivity is that it invites more of the same. One journey leads to another, both on and off the bike.
