Today’s post is going to be long and anecdotal in nature. However, I will promise a list of what I learnt from the experiences I am about to describe at the end of the post. This is a post about cycling, specifically, cycling to work/school/etc.
Background
I learnt to cycle when I was 6, and since then I’ve spent many hours riding in parks, and bike trails, and even trying out some bike tricks. Naturally, my choice of commute to University was by bicycle.
As much as I loved cycling, commuting was completely different from simply being a weekend thrasher. For one, I was on the saddle for a longer time than I’d (about 90 minutes a day) done before. I also had to commute at a specific time amidst the morning rush hour traffic. Needless to say, the first few days were stressful.
Also, since I was relying on my bike, there would be times when I would have to ride in the wind and rain. There was also the high likelihood that I would be riding after sunset, especially in winter, when the sun disappears by 5pm.
With all that said, I set forth in an attempt to plan for the imminent challenges. I familiarised myself with the rules of the road. I bought a great rain jacket and pants. I got some waterproof cycling gloves. I got visibility clothing, reflectors and light. I asked other commuter cyclists for tips, both on the internet and in person.
Therein lies the first point in this post: If you fail to plan, you plan to fail.
However, on the first day I was on the road, I was in for a surprise. No plan stands up against reality.
The question is why are these cliches true? Well, I think it’s because of there is stuff that you know, stuff that you don’t know, and stuff that you don’t know that you don’t know.
You can’t see over the cliff
Right, that was probably a little confusing, so let’s use my experience as an example. One of the first surprises that I got was that road rules didn’t really matter; everyone was just trying to get the right of way on the road. Also, because a bike falls into that fuzzy area between vehicle and pedestrian, in practice, crossing a road isn’t as clear cut as following the road signals. This is true for smaller roads, and T-junctions where there are no traffic lights.
So how do you cross? You can’t wait for there to be no cars; it’s rush hour! You don’t hope that cars will give you the right of way (they don’t). And you NEVER, EVER argue with a car, even if you think that you have the right of way. Practically speaking, you try to obey as many rules as you can, but knowing how to negotiate different situations calls for rules to be thrown out the window; it calls for judgment, which comes from experience. And that is something that I didn’t know before I started cycling.
So that illustrated a point: The fact that I didn’t know that crossing a road with my bike would be an issue until I started to actually commute on my bike. It also illustrates another point: the fact that I couldn’t explain to someone else how to do the same until they have actually tried it.
That explains why asking all those cyclists before hand didn’t really help me. But there is also another factor, and that has got to do with the way we remember things.
Let’s use a simple test. I’m sure you the reader have expertise in something. The question is, do you remember how it felt to be a novice? In other words, to not know everything that you know now? I’m sure that we can try to stretch the boundaries of our empathy, but in general, new knowledge changes you forever, and you can never feel like you did before.
I now have the ability to make snap judgments on how to cross a busy road during rush hour, but it is precisely because these are snap judgements, fleeting and sub-conscious, that I am unable to describe them to someone else. In other words, when you get good at something, you “just know it”.
More stuff that you don’t know that you don’t know
Another example would be to navigate my way efficiently around other bikes, and most annoying of all, pedestrians. When I first started, I thought, “Hey, I’ll just follow the bike path at these sections and everything will be alright.” What I found out is that Google Maps doesn’t tell you the various blind spots on the path, and the potential accidents that could occur when hapless pedestrians poked their head out of a blind corner.
Because pedestrian behaviour is so erratic (most of them don’t know what it’s like on a bike and therefore don’t know how to respond), you have to be extra careful even when on supposed bike paths. That was something that I didn’t think I’d have to face, and after I realised the challenge, I had to then figure a way around it.
Specifically, I had to figure out how to not collide with any other bikes, pedestrians or vehicles, and do so in a way that I won’t be late to Lectures. That was not an easy thing to do on my first ride, and what I estimated to be a 40 minute commute became an hour.
Fortunately, every ride got better, and as I got familiar with the route and riding etiquette, navigating my way round the vagaries of commuter cycling became easier and easier.
The Crazy Cyclist
However, being familiar with all the above doesn’t mean that you can let your guard down for one second. And just like there are crazy drivers, there are crazy cyclists as well.
I’ve got no solution to this, except to watch out for such scenarios and play it on the safe side.
Other Cyclists
Then there is the cyclist who always seems to be in a rush. He/she will be pedalling down at full speed along every single bike path, racing past bewildered pedestrians and tearing through every traffic junction at any possible opportunity.
I always wondered why these people were in such a hurry. The most plausible explanation would be to save time. So I decided to run a couple of experiments. I simply timed my commute for 3 months, varying my speed between what I vaguely called a ‘relaxed speed’ and a ‘race speed’ (pedalling as fast as I could).
It turns out that it didn’t make much difference for me; approximately 40 mins for ‘race speed’ and 45 mins for ‘relaxed speed’. This was mainly because I was cycle through urban areas, complete with numerous traffic crossings, and therefore the time sink was how long you were kept waiting at traffic lights. In other words, going as fast as you could between traffic junctions made little to no difference.
However, once you reach the clearway sections, for example, bike paths along parks, being fast does confer it’s benefit. Therein lies another point: Don’t simply charge around like a mad bull; be fast when it matters.
Of course, some people want to go fast for the thrill of it. For other people, 5 minutes may be significant, but I’d rather have 5 extra minutes to enjoy the ride and the environment around me in a relaxed state of mind.
Riding in the Rain
While that was all and good, I started riding in summer. And as summer left and autumn came, so came the wind and rain. This was a different challenge all together. Different in the sense that it was completely beyond my control (as was my unforgiving schedule). This meant being constantly prepared, taking precautions and plain old sucking-it-up-and-bearing-with-it when such a thing did happen.
Regardless of what anyone says, riding in the rain isn’t a very pleasant thing to do, especially at 8am on a chilly morning. What starts off as a cold morning becomes frigid the moment the rush of cold wind comes, an inevitable consequence of riding. However, this gets better and better, and while you have to grit your teeth and bear with those first 5 minutes, you soon get momentum, and then you actually start to enjoy it.
The only problem here is that when you next get back on your bike to ride home, the process repeats itself all over again. I could easily talk about all the extra precautions that one needs to take for cycling in the rain, but I think it’s better to say this: Anything worth doing starts off like crap. Pushing through that initial resistance often brings great rewards.
An Unexpected Side Effect
Back in the old days of riding for fun, I had never experienced any issues with injuries. Riding for the duration and speed that I did during the commute changed things. After powering on for a couple of weeks, I started to develop knee pain right above the left knee cap.
Therein lies another point: Sufficient time will manifest all potential errors, and will serve to make small problems big.
Because I also train with weights, and routinely put well over 100kg on my back, this injury would spell disaster for those efforts. I knew that something would need to be done to fix the problem, and I wasn’t willing to settle for a compromise. So I researched relentlessly.
Fortunately for me, my research bore fruit, and I was able to diagnose and fix the problem. It turns out that my saddle wasn’t high enough, and that my technique was completely wrong. So I started from scratch, learning to pedal at the right cadence, with proper foot angle, and to pedal in ‘circles’. I also coupled that with some self myofascia release therapy, and stretching of the region around the knee (calves and quads). This took about a week to learn, and I’ve been cycling pain-free ever since.
All the technical terms probably hint at the fact that I needed quite a far bit of research in order to come to the necessary actionable steps; It wasn’t a straightforward process. Neither was it a easy one, both physically and mentally. Physically, I had to pay extra attention to treating the injury and preventing reoccurrence during training. Mentally, I had to have the patience to hold back and allow time for the injury to heal.
What matters of course, is the attitude: to always seek out an ideal scenario, be relentlessly resourceful and to never settle. I must here highlight here that the internet is such a great source of information, and there are gems hidden out there, like Sheldon Brown’s Bike site.
Fortunately, the injury didn’t come and bite me back. It emphasised once again that one needs to go through the “trouble” to lay down the fundamentals. In other words: Anything worth doing, is worth doing well.
In Summary
So what are the lessons that one can take from these experiences.
First, you never know what is going to happen. The only solution is to accept the inherent uncertainty, and pave the way forward with courage.
Second, as much as courage matters, be a perfectionist about planning.
Third, you learn by doing, and therefore need to react on the fly.
Fourth, new experiences change you forever.
Fifth, know the risks, and play it safe (at least for biking).
Sixth, be fast when it matters.
Seventh, it’s always going to suck in the beginning.
Eighth, time will manifest all possible problems.
Ninth, relentless chase the ideal scenario, using whatever it takes to get there.
Tenth, start smart from the start; anything worth doing is worth doing well.
Most of all, it’s never going to be easy, but it’s always worth it.
As of today, I commute daily to University on my bike after what I now think was one of the best decisions that I’ve made.
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