As I pedalled past the old wooden barn, the narrow road opened onto rolling green fields. Above the fields there were birds, and as the lane curved and climbed, I shifted down a couple of gears and got out of the saddle and saw deer in the field among the crops. They galloped for the copse at the top of the field, the road continued on under the cover of trees, and the yellow-brown leaves fell. I looked down at my speed and saw it was just 23km/h, and that was perfect.
Once I’d passed the trees, the road dipped and up ahead was a small stone church with its spire poking out of the surrounding trees. I saw it all.
Sean Russell writes about cycling for The Times and Sunday Times. He has a particular love for Strade Bianche, the monuments and the Giro d’Italia. He once spent the day in the neutral service car at Amstel Gold and rode up Alpe d’Huez the day before Tom Pidcock won there at the Tour de France. Russell was just 40 minutes slower…
There was a time when I would see another rider up ahead and they would become a target, so I would stomp on the pedals to catch them and to pass them and then continue on my way. There was a time when I would care more about the Strava segments and personal bests, and posting long winding routes with high average speeds and low average heart rates.
I would ignore the deer and the birds and the little churches. I would ride until I was empty and my legs were jelly. At some point, however, that stopped. I fell out of love with it and for a couple of years I barely rode at all.
Why do any of us start cycling? First, perhaps, comes necessity. I first rode my bike to get around, to go to my friends’ houses, to do my paper round and eventually to commute. But why do we take that next step and plot a route among the countryside with no other purpose than to pedal in one great loop?
For me, it was because I enjoyed being out on those lanes and seeing the things I saw along the way and stopping in the little villages for a coffee and a cake. I bought my first road bike, a B’Twin Triban 540 with Shimano 105, for about £700 with one real intention: to ride Britain’s narrow winding roads with my brother who had, by that point, been riding for years.
My first proper ride was with him in Northamptonshire. I took a train up and we did a 50km loop he knew well and it was the furthest I’d ever ridden. I wore a loose-fitting running T-shirt and shorts and trainers, a cheap helmet and a pair of safety goggles. I said to my brother: “I want to ride, but I don’t want to be a Lycra wanker like you.”
Northamptonshire is mostly flat with some rolling hills. It is often windy but I enjoyed the ride, and we stopped for coffee and passed the fields and the woodlands and churches of England. Under the great Welland Viaduct we went and, oh how much of a place you can see while riding and how you can feel every metre of the land in your legs and I thought, then, that it was a very fine way to spend a weekend.
Within weeks I bought some ill-fitting Lycra and realised Lycra with trainers looked ridiculous and so bought some Shimano SPD-SL pedals and shoes and the transformation was almost complete. I’ve never been one for navigating by foot, car or bike and so I also invested in a Wahoo Elemnt Bolt — purely so I could plot routes and follow them. That was when I became obsessed.
The 31-year-old Belgian pro, Tiesj Benoot, who joins Decathlon from Visma-Lease a Bike next year, has recently lamented cycling’s serious, data-led culture and blamed it for young riders quitting early, disillusioned with racing bicycles.
“You see talents quitting at 21 or 22 years old,” he said on the Thomas Guenter Podcast. “They started cycling as a hobby but through all these small details they lose the joy completely and get mental problems… young riders can see everything a professional does, for example, photos of people weighing their food. And I do not think that is a good trend.”
While I never had any intention or desire to race professionally, this trend Benoot speaks of is not just at the competitive level but widespread among cycling culture. As I became increasingly obsessed with data and segments and FTP and intervals I began to imitate the professionals. I watched what I ate despite having no need to.
It’s good to stay in shape, but my “peak” weight was 63kg and I’m 180cm tall, this was close to underweight. I weighed myself every morning and night, and I stopped going out on Friday and Saturday nights with friends so I could ride early in the mornings. I became increasingly lonely. Those extra watts don’t keep you company and I forgot why I started cycling to begin with.
One Sunday morning about three years ago I woke up at 6am and I hated the idea of riding. I didn’t want to get out of bed and push myself, I just wanted to sleep and go for a roast dinner and a pint and not worry about it. I wanted to stop weighing myself and fretting over every fluctuation and obsessing about my data and average speed.
When you spend most of your ride thinking about the Strava file and what it will look like and what name you’ll give it, something’s wrong. More than anything, cycling felt an obligation and one I no longer wanted to get out of bed for, the joy was gone. Perhaps this was burnout.
At first I was disappointed with myself. I felt bad that I had started my day with failure, failure to get out of bed and go do this thing I was supposed to love. But soon the habit was broken. I didn’t care anymore. My bike, by that point a Scott Foil 20, gathered dust and dirty boxer shorts. I started seeing friends for drinks again and I stopped weighing myself. I felt no need or desire to cycle beyond my commute.
Perhaps after a year, I finally wanted to ride again. I desired what I first wanted: to be outside and to take my time and to look and listen and enjoy. One Sunday, I woke up when I felt like it and got ready and went out into Essex on a favourite route of mine which took in Tawney Lane.
I left my Wahoo on the map view, and I rode easily and I looked around at the fields and churches and at the birds and biplanes. When I reached Mott Street I got out of the saddle and climbed slowly, and saw there were horses in the fields alongside the hill. I had never noticed that before. When I got home I saw my average speed was 23km/h, and that was perfect.
