The Biggest Cycling Limits Aren’t Physical — They’re the Ones We Believe
Last Updated: July 11, 2026
The Biggest Cycling Limits Aren’t Physical — They’re the Ones We Believe
Looking back over more than 50 years and 155,000 miles of cycling, I can honestly say that some of the biggest obstacles I faced were not steep hills, headwinds, age, or a lack of fitness. The hardest battles often happened before I ever got on the bike.
I would look at a difficult route, hear other riders talk about a hard climb, or study the mileage of a long ride and begin deciding what I could not do before I had even tried. I did not need anyone else to discourage me because I was perfectly capable of doing that job myself.
That is one of the most dangerous things about self-doubt. After you repeat the same fear often enough, it stops sounding like fear and begins sounding like fact.
You start telling yourself that you are too old, too slow, too heavy, too inexperienced, or simply not built like a “real cyclist.” Before long, you are avoiding roads you might have enjoyed, skipping rides you might have completed, and placing limits on yourself that have never actually been tested.
I know because I have done it.
🚴 The Canyon Climb I Had Already Decided I Couldn’t Do
There was a canyon climb in Palo Duro Canyon near Amarillo, Texas that I avoided for a long time. I had heard about how difficult it was, looked at the road rising ahead of me, and allowed it to grow larger and steeper in my imagination every time I thought about riding it.
The strange thing was that I had never attempted the climb. It had never defeated me. I had never been forced to stop, walk, or turn around. I had simply decided that it was beyond my ability without giving my legs the opportunity to prove me wrong.
Eventually, I decided I was tired of wondering about it. I did not expect to be fast, and I did not set out to impress anyone. My goal was simply to ride up the canyon and see what happened.
What happened surprised me.
The climb was difficult enough to make me work, but it was nowhere near as difficult as I had imagined. I reached the top and realized that most of the suffering had taken place before the ride, inside my own head.
Nothing dramatic happened. I did not suddenly become a gifted climber, and the road did not flatten itself for me. I simply kept pedaling until I reached the top.
That single ride changed the way I viewed the canyon. I returned and rode it again. Then I rode it again after that. The fear gradually disappeared because experience replaced imagination.
Today I willingly ride that same canyon as part of my hill training. I know it will require effort, but I no longer fear it. I have ridden it enough times to know what it feels like, where the hardest sections are, and how to pace myself.
The canyon never changed. What changed was the story I had been telling myself about it.
🧠 Self-Doubt Often Sounds Reasonable
Self-doubt does not always sound dramatic. Most of the time, it sounds cautious and sensible. It tells you that today might not be the right day, that you should wait until you are in better shape, or that you need more experience before attempting something difficult.
Sometimes caution is justified. Cyclists should respect dangerous weather, unsafe roads, medical limitations, mechanical problems, and conditions that genuinely place them at risk. Riding intelligently is not the same thing as being afraid.
The problem begins when caution becomes a permanent excuse. You keep waiting to feel completely prepared, but that feeling never arrives. The hill remains unridden, the event remains unentered, and the longer ride remains something you may attempt “someday.”
Most cyclists do not build confidence by waiting until fear disappears. Confidence usually develops after they attempt something, discover that they can manage it, and then repeat it until it no longer feels unusual.
Confidence Comes From Evidence, Not Positive Thinking
I am not a big believer in standing in front of a mirror and telling yourself that you are unstoppable. A difficult climb does not care about your slogans, and a 50-mile headwind will not disappear because you visualized a pleasant ride.
What builds real confidence is evidence.
You ride five miles farther than you thought you could. You climb a hill you had always avoided. You finish an organized ride even though you were one of the slower cyclists. You recover from a difficult day and get back on the bike the next morning.
Each one of those experiences becomes proof that your earlier assumptions may have been wrong. Over time, that proof changes how you approach the next challenge.
Before I first rode the canyon, all I had was fear and imagination. After I rode it, I had experience. Experience is much harder for self-doubt to argue with.
Getting Older Does Not Mean You Stop Challenging Yourself
Age does change cycling. At 70, I pay more attention to recovery, hydration, heat, balance, traffic, and how my body responds during a ride. I also know that I cannot train or recover exactly as I did when I was 30.
But acknowledging age is not the same thing as surrendering to it.
At age 70, I completed a six-day, 366-mile ride following the Mississippi River through parts of Minnesota, Wisconsin, Iowa, and Illinois. I averaged about 61 miles per day, and by the end I understood that this was close to my current limit for repeated long days. I had rode a tour in 2020 that had multiple back to back 100 mile days and now I felt 61 miles was pushing my limit.
That realization did not make the ride a failure. It taught me that future tours may be more enjoyable at about 50 miles per day. That is not giving up. It is learning how to continue.
There is an important difference between adapting a goal and abandoning it. Older cyclists may need more recovery, shorter daily distances, better route planning, or additional safety equipment. Those changes can keep us riding longer rather than pushing us out of cycling.
I do not need to ride as fast as younger cyclists, and I do not need to prove that age has no effect on me. I simply refuse to let a birthday make every decision about what I can attempt.
How to Challenge a Cycling Limit Without Being Reckless
Overcoming self-doubt does not mean charging into a ride without preparation. The safest way to expand your limits is to do it gradually and honestly.
- Choose one specific challenge. Do not try to transform yourself overnight. Pick one hill, one longer route, or one organized ride that is slightly beyond what you normally do.
- Prepare for the actual difficulty. Study the route, check the weather, carry enough water, inspect your bike, and know where you can stop if necessary.
- Allow yourself to be slow. Speed is not the same thing as success. Reaching the top slowly still means you reached the top.
- Break the challenge into smaller pieces. On a climb, focus on the next curve or the next hundred yards instead of staring at the entire hill.
- Learn from the attempt. Even if you do not finish, you will know more than you did before. Failure gives you information. Avoidance gives you nothing.
- Repeat the ride. Familiarity removes much of the fear. What feels intimidating the first time often becomes an ordinary part of your riding later.
That last point mattered most with my canyon climb. The first successful ride proved it was possible. Returning again and again made it normal.
🚦 Some Fears Are Real — Especially Around Traffic
Not every cycling concern is imaginary. Traffic is dangerous, distracted drivers are real, and cyclists should never confuse confidence with carelessness.
I have ridden in places where I felt comfortable and visible, and I have ridden on roads where I did not feel safe at all. There is no prize for riding on a dangerous road merely to prove that you are brave.
The goal is not to eliminate reasonable fear. The goal is to reduce risk and prevent fear from becoming so powerful that you stop riding altogether.
For me, a few pieces of equipment have made a major difference in how aware and confident I feel on the road.
Gear That Helps Me Ride With More Confidence
I do not believe equipment creates courage, but the right equipment can remove uncertainty and help a cyclist feel more aware, visible, and comfortable.
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📡 Garmin Varia Rear Radar:
My Garmin Varia is one of the most important safety tools I use. It alerts me when vehicles are approaching from behind and shows how many are coming. It does not replace looking, listening, or riding defensively, but it gives me information that I would not otherwise have.
See current Garmin Varia radar options on Amazon -
💡 Bright Daytime Front Light:
I use a front light during the day because visibility matters long before sunset. A bright flashing or pulsing light can help drivers notice a cyclist sooner.
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🪖 Bright Neon-Lime MIPS Helmet:
My helmet is a bright neon-lime color that stands out against the road and surrounding landscape. I also prefer a helmet with MIPS protection. No helmet can prevent every injury, but visibility and modern safety features are worthwhile.
See bright MIPS cycling helmets -
🩳 Comfortable Padded Bib Shorts:
Discomfort can make any ride feel more intimidating. Properly fitting padded shorts or bibs make it easier to focus on the road rather than soreness and pressure points.
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Do Not Compare Your Beginning to Someone Else’s Best Ride
Another source of self-doubt is comparison. Social media and cycling apps make it easy to see riders who are faster, younger, lighter, or capable of climbing hills that would leave most of us gasping.
There will always be someone faster. That has been true during every stage of my cycling life, and it is certainly true now.
I consider myself a very ordinary cyclist. I have never been especially gifted, and speed has never been my strength. What I have done well is continue riding, prepare for long distances, and keep moving forward when a ride becomes difficult.
Over more than five decades, that persistence has taken me across states, through difficult weather, over long climbs, and onto tours I once would not have believed I could complete.
An ordinary cyclist who keeps going can accomplish a surprising amount.
The Difference Between “I Can’t” and “I Can’t Yet”
There are things I cannot do today. Pretending otherwise would be foolish. But I have learned to be careful about turning a current limitation into a permanent one.
There is a major difference between saying, “I cannot ride that distance today,” and saying, “I will never be able to ride that distance.” The first statement may be an honest assessment. The second is a prediction, and predictions are often wrong.
A cyclist who can ride 10 miles today may be able to ride 20 miles after several months of consistent riding. Someone who walks part of a hill this month may ride the entire climb later in the year. A rider who is nervous in traffic may become more confident after finding quieter roads, improving visibility, and gaining experience.
You do not have to pretend that every goal is immediately possible. You only have to leave room for the possibility that you can improve.
What That Canyon Still Teaches Me
I still think about the first time I climbed that canyon because it exposed how easily imagination can become a limit.
For a long time, I gave the road power it had not earned. I allowed a climb I had never attempted to decide what kind of cyclist I was.
Once I rode it, the mystery disappeared. The climb became a physical challenge instead of a mental monster. I learned where to shift, when to slow down, and how much effort I could sustain. Most importantly, I learned that my fear had exaggerated the difficulty.
Today, when another ride makes me question myself, I remember that canyon. I remind myself that I have been confidently wrong about my limits before.
That does not guarantee I will complete every challenge. It does remind me that I should not declare defeat before the ride begins.
Final Thoughts
After more than 155,000 miles, I do not regret many of the difficult rides I attempted. Even the rides that went badly taught me something useful.
What I do regret are some of the opportunities I avoided because I had already decided I was not capable.
You do not need to become fearless. Fear can keep you alert, encourage you to prepare, and remind you to respect genuine danger. But fear should not be allowed to choose every route, cancel every difficult ride, or convince you that getting older means you are finished.
The climb may be hard. The distance may require training. You may be slower than everyone else on the road.
Try anyway.
Not recklessly. Not to prove something to strangers. Try because the only reliable way to discover what you can do is to give yourself the chance to do it.
Confidence did not come before I climbed the canyon. Confidence came because I climbed it.
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