I learned to ride from my grandpa, who tied a broomstick to the luggage rack and set me on my way. From holding on to letting go, he watched me cross the Sterrebeek soccer field on that small, half-rusty two-wheeler. On the bike, I felt like a molecule in the gas phase: free and heading toward the unknown, secretly making bigger rounds from neighbourhood to village to even further away. It was thrilling!
For my communion, I received a 90s Scott mountain bike, the first I chose myself. Scott became my companion. A few months later, the wide, loud mountain bike tires gave way to slim slicks, perfect for asphalt and gravel roads. Tailor-made for years of cycling pleasure on days when the mercury rose into the comfort zone.
My moments with Scott are etched in memory. Like that field path behind the E40, where I saw a jumbo jet from Singapore take off up close. Or discovering a different world past the language border. Or refuelling on sugars at the church in Wezembeek, speaking our best German to get a piece of apple pie at the Konditorei! Isn’t that the essence of cycling?
One day, I stumbled upon "De Renner" by Tim Krabbé. The first page struck me: “Tourists and locals watch from terraces. Non-cyclists. The emptiness of those lives shocks me.” Becoming a cyclist became my goal. To belong, to ride along, so much more than just cycling around. The race, where you are never alone. Proud of my first Mapei jersey, I got a beautifully lacquered Colnago racing bike. The training began. The routes stayed the same. The straightjacket of miles and speed took over.
That year, I betrayed my faithful Scott. I painted him to match my Colnago, replaced the slicks with rough tires again. The Colnago became my asphalt companion. In a week, all reminders of Scott were gone. Every scratch erased. We rarely rode together anymore. Eventually, I sold Scott for a few euros. Sometimes I wonder how he is, if he’s still riding somewhere with another boy discovering the world.
The love for Scott remains. I long for that pure cycling, free from miles and speed. Scott is a feeling, a memory. A sensation I relived conquering a pass in the Alps or the Vosges, rewarded with phenomenal views. That sensation is now the essence of cycling for me.
If I meet you at a terrace, Tim, I will say: “No, I am not a Renner, Tim, I cycle.”
This post originally appeared as a Sensecycling story. You can find the Dutch version here.
