a case for the second-best way to experience the world

by Vincent Van Gogh

Dear reader,

The end of the month is dangerously close as there are only two hours left, so I’d better get to it. This month I’ve attempted writing some non-garbage on non-last day of the month, but upon re-reading I’ve realized that what I’ve written is non-non-garbage.

The themes included Jung’s shadow integration and the fact that somehow reading about the craft of writing rarely inspires me for writing as it’s usually full of the anointed writer of choice patronizingly declaring that no one knows how to write except him and that one should do this or that and anything different is not real writing. In retrospect, writing about these topics seems a little silly, as I did something unusual this month — I biked for four days. So here goes.

I started long-distance bike riding a couple of years ago, visiting towns in the county with some friends. There’s something inexplicable that attracted me to these rides.

There’s something meditative in only hearing the sound of the tires on the asphalt and the chain turning and the dogs barking at us in the distance. In riding through these fields and hills in the middle of nowhere, far away from traffic of the city or any people other than spontaneous residents of some sparsely populated village. In sweating profusely because of the merciless sun above and the endless inclines that have to be conquered by the already spent legs. There’s something alluring about being very physically active while exploring unknown places at the same time, knowing the end goal, but not knowing how you are going to end there.

These one day trips seduced us to think of something more bold — a multi-day trip to the sea. Going to the sea seemed like such an obvious choice for us. I don’t know if that’s because the coast is commonly considered the most beautiful part of Croatia, or because the sea is somehow embedded in every Croatian psyche as a symbol for a great trip and vacation. Maybe the former is the reason for the latter. Nevertheless, we decided one day that we were going.

There was just one obstacle on our way to the sea — the incline.

And we failed to conquer it when we did this attempt five years ago. My friend’s spoke broke and we didn’t have a spare one and the nearest bike shop was hundreds of kilometers away. I gave him my wheel and I returned back home with the bitter taste in my mouth that lasted until the second attempt. This second attempt happened a week ago and included an incline through Slovenia.

Again I was attracted to the idea of multi-day ride when I ended up on a gravel road in some wilderness away from civilization. I remembered how good it felt to know that I am now leaving home with a couple of bike bags carrying all my luggage and gear for the next couple of days and that I’m going to cross all this distance without relying on anything but the strength of my legs and some persistence in the face of hostile inclines.

This time I took the preparation and the trip way less seriously even though we were riding for four hours through the rough gravel roads covered with bear warning signs and no signal. Taking an activity too seriously usually spoils the fun of it and I wanted to have maximum fun this time. This time we actively sought woods and as little asphalt as possible because we knew traffic loves asphalt and we hate the traffic. Being alone on the windy road over the fields, surrounded by the pine forest and seeing hills in the distance, relying on the bike to carry you through with the power of your legs is almost a religious experience.

I am not going to lie — the bike is only the second best way to experience the world. The first is, of course, walking. But that doesn’t mean that long-distance ride can’t be a profound experience which can change one’s perspective on places usually visited only in passing by car. It definitely elevated the meaning of taking a trip to the sea for me.

As always,
Thank you for reading,
Yours,
SH