Cycling Is My Mistress at 70
Last Updated: May 2026 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 bik...
