Cycling Is My Mistress

Last Updated: November 28, 2025

Quick Take: Cycling isn’t my escape—it’s my confessional. The road knows the version of me no one else sees, and every mile strips away everything but the truth.

Cycling Is My Mistress

Some people chase hobbies. Some chase goals. I chase the road.

I always have.

Not because I’m running from anyone—and not because I’m unhappy. My wife knows me better than anyone alive. She knows I love her. She also knows there’s a part of me she can’t compete with, and I don’t say that lightly.

Cycling is my mistress.

Not in the way people whisper behind closed doors. In the way something calls your name, long after you should’ve outgrown it. In the way a quiet obsession becomes a second pulse.

She’s the one who wakes me before sunrise. She’s the one who pulls me out the door when logic says “not today.” She’s the one who knows the version of me no one else sees—the tired, hurting, stubborn, grateful, alive version.

My wife sees the man. The bike sees the animal underneath.

And if that sounds dramatic, then you haven’t pedaled 70 miles into the wind with nothing but your breath and your thoughts holding you together. You haven’t had a moment where the whole world collapses down to a crank, a chain, and a patch of pavement six feet ahead.

The road keeps secrets—the kind even a marriage can’t dig out.

Every mile I’ve ridden, I’ve confessed something to the asphalt.

• The fears I don’t say out loud.
• The grief I carry quietly.
• The anger I pretend doesn’t bother me.
• The dreams I’m stubborn enough to still chase at seventy.

There’s no judgment out there. No expectation. No performance. Just sweat, breath, and truth.

You can’t lie on a bicycle. Your legs won’t let you.

And maybe that’s why she keeps pulling me back—because the world is full of masks. Polite smiles, small talk, pretending you’re fine because it’s easier than explaining why you’re not.

But a long ride? A long ride strips you down to your bones.

By mile 40, you’ve stopped pretending.
By mile 60, you’ve told the road everything.
By mile 70, you’ve forgiven yourself for things you didn’t know you were carrying.

My wife gives me love.
Cycling gives me clarity.
I need both—desperately.

Some men escape to bars.
Some to anger.
Some to silence.

I escape to miles.

And the funny thing is… the road always returns me home better than it found me. My wife has said it for years: “You’re calmer after you ride.” She’s right. I’m softer. Kinder. More patient.

That’s what a mistress should do—
return you to the world gentler than you left it.

Maybe one day the miles will run out. Maybe my legs will finally say “not anymore.” But until then, I’ll keep answering the call.

Not because I’m unfaithful.
But because I’m human—
and the road is the only place where I become whole.

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• My Lifetime Love Affair With Long-Distance Cycling

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After 150,000+ miles, I’ve written about almost everything the bike has taught me.

About the Writer
I’m a 70-year-old long-distance cyclist riding 140–150 miles a week and writing the truth the road teaches me.
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and I’ll keep riding until I hear the next one.