“Alone but together” – I feel like I’ve seen this phrase multiple times now on Strava activities and cycling-related Instagram posts, and it’s often come to mind as familiar faces glide past me along popular road cycling routes in the city. Where my gestures of ‘hello’ were once unenthusiastic (and probably invisible when offered from mid-pack in a large group) I now send a more sincere wave, an expression of solidarity, from one individual to another as we pass on our pandemic-induced, solitary journeys – alone, but together.

My road riding pursuits over the past few years have been mostly event and group ride oriented. Rather than simply a form of exercise, as I once saw running, participation in races and community events are my primary motivation for cycling. Now, with no events to speak of, I feel like my desire to ride has been pulled from under me. No social interaction to look forward to, no upcoming races to motivate my training, and no cycling-related coffee shop or bar events at which I can feel like part of the “scene” (while standing alone with my drink).

Community is such a big part of cycling, no matter your preferred discipline. With difficult and time consuming training, expensive equipment, slow progress and tough events, riding can feel like a beat down, and we Freds sometimes need others to pick us up. I can’t tell you the number of times, upon seeing some local hero’s Strava activity, that I’ve been motivated to go out myself. Or how often a poor event result has pushed me to stick to a training plan.

In the loss of this community to stay-at-home orders and social distancing, I find my interests drifting toward some of the more individual riding pursuits that first piqued my interest in bikes: aimless rambles on my commuter, exploratory gravel rides, touring, the novelty in fixed-gear/single speed riding. Going hard for hours on a carbon bike in expensive kit seems to make less sense when there isn’t any place to showcase that fitness (except Strava). This kind of riding is starting to feel out of touch, like the wrong tool for the job of keeping this amazing hobby fulfilling. And with the threat of a layoff looming, the expense of race oriented training and equipment feels even more silly. Will I be able to afford registration fees and travel? Will there be time to go on 5+ hour rides if I’m struggling to make ends meet? Will long work hours sap my energy? The Rapha-esque signaling that one sees so often in this sport feels frivolous and empty in the face of hardship, while hauling groceries or cruising the trail on my old commuter somehow feels “right”. Maybe that’s because it’s where I started — a sort of regression as life starts to break down.

Normalcy is still a long way off and, while I’ll certainly keep riding, the “what-ifs” generated by the adversity of the past few months will forever change the way I look at cycling. Where once I may have thought of a workout in terms of gaining fitness or staying slim, my mind is now more focused training as goal achievement. Group rides will no longer be about winning or hanging out with the cool kids, but community and advocacy. My bikes are now more tool than social signal, ridden with gratitude, rather than thoughts about obtaining something newer and lighter.

Seeing things in this way isn’t new to me (I’m not that shallow!), though it’s definitely easier when circumstances focus your attention on how quickly it can all be lost. I’m so fortunate to have the time, money and perseverance to be a cyclist, and that fact is now clearer than ever.