What I’m trying to say is that riding a different bicycle is like being in orbit. Time moves at a different pace. And I discovered recently that it also changes my mood and temperament as a cyclist.

Let me explain.

My buddy left his bike at my place for several weeks. Because I love bikes of all stripes (though some fiercely more than others), I rode his bike. A lot. It’s an old Trek 520 frame with riser handlebars. It looks like a beast, but it shifts and rides beautifully. On it, you sit lazily upright and survey the road like a trucker. Your feet appear to be way out in front of you. The pace is cooled, to say the least.

In any case, for the several weeks that I was riding the Feral Child (its name is another story), I was a different cyclist.  I believe that safe urban cycling necessitates a healthy dose of active defense (hard riding, aggressive decision making). But on the FC I settled into an entirely different pace. I let cyclists pass me,and I didn’t even care. My competitiveness waned.

It was an interesting experience, and one that allowed me to reflect on the act of cycling. It could be this other thing, a wide-eyed crawl through the city.

And then my buddy took his bike home. The next morning, I took out my IRO and immediately began to push. I rallied at the corners of the city, pushed my legs constantly past what was comfortable. I felt like I was tucked into a cockpit, arms forward, barreling towards the future.

It was good to be back.