Fifty Years on Two Wheels: Why the Journey Never Ends
Fifty Years on Two Wheels: Why the Journey Never Ends At 69, with many thousands of miles spun under my weathered tires, some might think my cycling days are numbered. Like a well-worn book, my legs might creak a bit more, the wind whistling through a few extra silver strands in my hair. Yet, every time I find myself thinking, "Maybe this is it, " a curious thing happens. The road whispers back, and my wheels answer with a defiant hum. It's not the speed anymore, mind you. The days of chasing KOMs and blistering downhills are memories painted in gold on the canvas of time. My pace now is a conversation, a gentle dialogue with the earth, the sun, and my own aging body. There's a new kind of thrill in conquering a climb not with muscle, but with the slow, steady thrum of resilience. The scenery, though, it's never lost its power to astonish. Every sunrise is a fresh masterpiece, every winding lane a story waiting to unfold. There's a w...
