The Cycling Life: a healthy habit

Cycling is a curious habit. At times it can seem like an odd thing to do. Still, once the urge to ride strikes it becomes one of life’s routines. I’ve been doing it for over 50 years. It’s something that keeps me feeling young and, although there may be frustrations along the way, also more centred.

There are, of course, times when I pause and wonder: ‘Why the hell am I doing this?’ But the pedals keep turning and the ride continues even if the voice in my head is trying to suggest that going for a bike ride doesn’t always make sense. An example of one such moment springs to mind. Nothing dramatic happened but for a few minutes of a six-hour ride I was compelled to yell.

Frustrations can be part of the deal but so too the opportunity to vent, sometimes to a riding companion, sometimes just to yourself. Then you continue rolling, onwards… and often the destination doesn’t matter. You did something with the day, and the benefits easily outweigh the drawbacks.

Early in the morning on a random Saturday in August – 50 days after my 55th birthday – I aimed north from Sydney. There was little pre-ride planning, just a glance at the BOM app to get a gauge of what weather I could expect. ‘Chance of rain: 10 percent,’ the bureau suggested. ‘Wind from the south, 10-15km/h.’

The hours ticked by and, alone with my thoughts, all was going according to plan. The legs were turning and it felt like I’d worked out where I was going. ‘To the Central Coast,’ I told myself, ‘then get a train home.’ But my mood quickly turned sour. Closing in on the 100km mark, it all started to change. I got the rain. I got the wind. It wasn’t mild. There were gusts, strong gusts!

I got hungry. I got annoyed. And I started to question the logic of what I was doing riding my bike in such a situation.

In short sentence bursts I began to chastise myself. In full voice.

“What are you doing!?” Pause. Pedal a bit further. “You idiot! This doesn’t make sense!”

I was on a slight rise. The surface was rough, potholed, and getting more slippery by the minute. The light drizzle became rain, which then got heavier until there was far more water falling from the sky than the BOM suggested. The gentle tailwind that had helped push me along for over five hours suddenly turned into a confused squall.

A violent wind surged from my left and shunted me sideways. Coming up quickly from behind I could hear a semi-trailer in the distance and a sequence of small frustrations boiled to the surface. One small thing stacked on top of another until it felt like a burden. “Why are you here!?”

Pause. Pedal. Maintain the momentum. Focus. ‘Regain your composure,’ said the voice in my head. Then the truck sped past on my right and the filthy, muddy grime that coated the road was now being sprayed all over me by the B-double as it hurtled past. Huge tyres rolled by; one axle after another in what felt like a never-ending sequence.

To the driver’s credit, there was distance between me and the semi-trailer. It was a country road, a forgotten highway and usually a safe place to ride. But trucks are big and they carry quite a load and this one took what felt like minutes to pass. If it was an eight-axle monster, that adds up to a total of 26 wheels… half of them on my side of the vehicle that was tracking along at ±100km/h on a wet road.

It was one momentary blip in the ride. It took only a few seconds for the truck to pass, but time seemed to stand still. At that moment it felt like a long combination of elements had struck at once to create a sense of havoc.

I don’t care if I get wet while riding. It happens. Once you feel the water through your socks, that’s it. Accept it. You’re wet. Ride on. That’s how it seems to go, for me at least. There have been plenty of days in the rain this year, more than I might have done in the past. And yet, there’s no reason at all for me to … ah, be bothered getting wet, certainly not for the sake of a bike ride. But still, I choose to do it. I want to be there, riding… anywhere.

My Happy Place is on the bike. At 55, I’m enjoying my cycling more than I have ever before. And when I consider that ‘before’ spans a very long time, I wonder if it’s too bold a comment. There have been a few long days in the saddle in 2025, and frankly I’m surprised, pleased, and humbled by the reality that I feel great – physically and, most of the time, emotionally – when I’m riding a bike.

I’ve had days when my back aches when I get out of bed. I can feel decrepit and sore, as though age is catching up with me. Going for a walk can feel like a strain. And there always seems to be this pain or that when I’m doing ordinary life tasks. I’ve tweaked a nerve or two but the most recent one, the most painful and enduring one, was while I was brushing my teeth in the shower. On the bike? No worries.

Even with a pinched nerve, I’ve felt more comfortable on the bike than walking down the street. And honestly, not gloating or anything – even if it may seem that way (note: if so, sorry) – but I can happily knock out six hours of riding and get home feeling ready to ‘get on with the day’.

It is exercise. I do get a physical workout, but that’s secondary in the bigger picture scheme. The real reason I ride is because I know it helps me.

It helps me focus. It helps me wander. It helps me breathe. It helps my heart and my lungs. It helps my body and my mind. And it helps my soul. When I’m on the bike, I’m happy. The aches that hinder me elsewhere seem to vanish when I’m riding.

At 55, I’m finding the best version of myself when I’m on the bike. Thankfully – happily – this also contributes to a happier, more contented mood in between rides. I also notice small details in a different way to when I was younger. The bass in a favourite song, for example… it might be a riff that I’ve never really paid attention to before but now, as I get older, it seems omnipresent.

When I’m on the bike, the same applies. I’ve been cycling for so long that I realise when my body isn’t responding to my demands. I’ve ridden enough different bikes and reviewed so much cycling exotica that every little glitch seems magnified. As such, small things can quickly become bigger than they ought to be.

A gust of wind. A sudden downpour. A heavy vehicle. A nagging hunger. Each frustration, on its own, isn’t a concern. Add them all up, and focus on the net effect, and a loss of impetus can be the result.

Similarly, age has also calmed me a little and that helps me assess various situations better and, ideally, be able to overcome the frustrations. And when I’m in My Happy Place I get little prompts that help me iron out troubles that I once would have let overwhelm me. Cycling has always been an outlet of mine. It offers plenty of rewards including the kind of stuff that I’ve tried to share for years while publishing stories about what makes this activity so special. And now, after all these years of maintaining this habit, I realise that it’s the mental benefits from cycling that matter most to me. A bike ride, even a bad one, can really help me realise how lucky I am.

It’s an addiction that has sustained me for over 50 years. It is a part of who I am. I’ve had what I believe is a life of cycling. It doesn’t always make sense. There are times when it can be so frustrating or upsetting that you start yelling at yourself even though you’re doing what you love. It’s a habit, a healthy one. And that’s why I ride.