It sounds somewhat egocentric to talk about a time in my life as an “era” but other words do not seem to adequately describe my relationship with road cycling. I could call my passion for riding a “phase” or a “stage”. But those terms seem to trivialize the experience that became so prominent during my empty-nesting years. The pull of the road reached out and called me to put myself into situations that were more dangerous (and simultaneously thrilling) than my conservative nature could have planned. I am not sure I can pinpoint why it became important, just that it did. And it is time to leave it behind.

Perhaps it is because my passion for it did not come until mid-life (it did not come until I was in my early fifties). Or possibly it was because of the beauty of our southern Indiana backroads system and easy access to quiet, peaceful rides that could show the beauty of a warm summer day. Maybe it was the outlet provided after long days in the office giving me both a mental and physical respite. Whatever the reason for developing the love of the sport, it has become obvious that the time has come to give it up. And that decision has come with all of the normal responses to grieving a loss.

I started riding as part of recovery from a broken leg and complications that came after surgeries to repair the injury. In a shift to non-weight bearing exercises (I don’t swim well) I picked cycling as something to try. I quickly went from a hybrid bike and riding around the neighborhood to finding a carbon fiber (extremely lightweight) bike with all of the gadgets and technology that allowed me t throw myself into the sport as fully as time allowed. I had the GPS monitors that tracked my mapping, calories, cadence, power output, and much more. I would put the data into apps and track training. I bought one of the early Tour de France indoor training bikes to give me something to do during cold-weather or rainy times. I was “all in”.

Cycling also offered the opportunity to ride socially as well as on my own. Riding with friends became part of a weekly routine that would see us riding 20-25 miles once or twice during the week and then 40-50 miles on weekends. The miles added up and the addiction to the road pulled us in. I would take my bike with me every time we traveled. Some of the riskiest decisions I have made have involved heading out by myself on my bike through unfamiliar roads and traffic patterns. Whether it was an urban ride through Louisville, a mountain ride through West Virginia, a beach ride through Florida, or scenic rides through Traverse City or Savannah, I was ready to go wherever the road led me.

Over the past few years, the cycling landscape has been changing. There have been external factors that have become alarming while at the same time, I have seen some physical changes that have made me less comfortable while riding. Distracted drivers have always been concerning. While states have laws protecting cyclists, those laws don’t do you any good when a 4000 pound car contacts a 200 pound bike. While the laws of the states provide protection the laws of physics do not. The number of times I have barely missed contact with extended truck mirrors is difficult to track. Car drivers on phones, cyclists playing music (instead of listening for cars), and road debris in safety lanes are just a few of the issues that have worsened over the past few years.

Getting older has not helped. Reaction times are slowing. Hearing, which is vital to cycling safety, has been decreasing. Dog chases have become more common (yes, I have been taken down by a large dog and chased by many). With the placement of a pacemaker a couple of years ago, I had already gotten to the point that I would not go out alone. Now, with a new-onset seizure disorder I have doctor (and common sense) directives to avoid outdoor cycling. After thirteen years of a hobby that I passionately pursued I am at the point of quitting.

The good news for me is that over the past couple of years, I have found a replacement. I have been using Peloton classes as a substitute and find that, while not quite as enveloping, the experience is close and getting better. I can pivot to becoming an indoor cyclist and still get good workouts in a much safer environment. But I don’t get the experience of walking into a coffee bar in the cool biker get-up of shorts, jerseys, and those “oh so comfortable” shoes. Maybe sparing others that visual is the greatest benefit of it all.