My “why” of bicycle touring

Blue Marble
Blue marble. A ridiculously large frame of reference for bicycle touring

On this blog/website you will find some impressions of my bicycle travels and races of the past years. In some cases it’s verbal accounts, in other cases I crunch numbers or present visualizations; either represents elements of my pleasure in cycling and racing. On this page I’ll address the “why”…

My approach to cycling?

I don’t cycle merely for the sake of cycling. In fact, cycling itself is to some extent just a tool for me to make experiences that I would not be able to have otherwise.

To me, the great aspects of cycling are linked to…

  • exploring the world, experiencing my surroundings and strangers
  • the feeling of independence and agency
  • in races, the empathetic relationships with other cyclists who go through the same
  • finding my own physical and mental limits
  • being aware of my position on this planet

This may sound a little “big”, but I will explain…

An example: Oslo

One moment when I felt this very strongly was when I cycled into Oslo on one of my earlier trips in 2013, coming from the South-East:

Many people go by plane, which is like some Star-Trek-style beaming… getting from A to B without any perception of the space and time in between. A common visitor’s only chance is to explore the region from the “inside out”, meaning: you slowly extend the radius around your new location. That also means to start with a somewhat limited perception of the city and then, through “hard work” extending the urban experience.

But cycling into Oslo was the opposite: It was exploring “outside in”, starting with the spacial reference and slowly getting to the core of it. That way I realized that that “Oslo” is a certain patch of land with fuzzy edges at the gulf of Oslo, that is very smoothly embedded into hilly and rocky terrain that emerged from the flat coast of western Sweden. While I was in Oslo I always kept the following arrival-scenario in the back of my mind: on the way to and into Oslo, around dusk, I cycled from the South-East into the outer suburbs. Along the edge of the mountains, through some sort of canyon with many little houses along the opposite wall – each window lit with a small candle light, around me the smell of the woods, moist but warm summer air. It’s getting dark. Then the first urban symbol: a tram. At some point, suddenly, the entire gulf opens up in front of my eyes with a view all over brightly lit Oslo; then a down-hill ride along the sea-face of the rocky ridge, and a smooth transition into the urban area, and at some point in the middle of central Oslo’s traffic. Of course those are beautiful and touching moments in themselves. But also: While strolling through Oslo the following days, the impression and the contextual reference stayed with me and I am sure that it very much enriched my experience of the city – once you have it, the big picture never leaves. All of the way to Oslo becomes part of Oslo.

And here’s the other kind of spacial reference cycling provides: Before entering Oslo, I cycled there all the way from Berlin; a distance that a non-cyclist usually only calls “far”. Spain is “far”, Montréal is “far”, Shanghai is “far”. But a cyclist experiences what exactly that particular “far” is and to their surprise it is graspable and doable without any doubt. Somehow that experience suggests that nothing is really “far” anymore, but hypothetically within the range of our own mind and muscles.

Nothing is far. The world is small. On that Scandinavia trip I did 1777km. The circumference of our planet is 40.000km. So just multiply my not even so impressively long tour by “23” and you already experience the first kind of limit of the sphere we live on. “23”… that is a number almost scarily easy to grasp… Many people – not me – have done it in remarkable, long, exhausting but accomplished tours around the world. Our planet is so spacially limited, it is even within the grasp of a human on their simple machine. And that also implies and demonstrates a certain vulnerability of it.

Agency, independence and self-efficacy…

One distinct but related aspect to the above is the element of agency I experience while cycling: I am the designer of my fate; I make my own decisions and those decisions very much affect my spacial and mental position. The grey and elusive cloud of a daunting task turns into a rock that I can climb step by step and then really reach its local summit – and from there I usually see the next grey cloud, but it seems less scary than the first.

And this feeling of knowing how clouds turn into tangible rocks and great views extends into my everyday life. It doesn’t mean I could do anything, but it means: sometimes a daunting task needs a slow approach and some determination and may turn out much more within grasp than previously anticipated.

The fractal of experience

As you can see, my joy in bicycle touring extends from the biggest picture into the minutest detail – in the grandest way: Your relative position on our blue marble, your feeling of agency. In the smallest way: The sweet smell of that wooden log in Oslo’s outskirts or the warm words by the unexpectedly emerging fellow racer in the middle of nowhere. All that is part of it. And that’s why I do it.


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