I used to hike.I used to run.I used to spend money like a normal person.Then I met the bike.And it was all over. That bastard two-wheeled machine, sleek and quiet, got under my skin like a tick with a titanium crankset. I didn’t just ride it—I gave it a key to my apartment, and it…

By some guy who loved, lost, and pedaled through it anyway She left.The road didn’t.The silence got louder.And my ass still hurts. I used to ride for hours. Now I ride for ten minutes and start thinking about her thumb hovering over my last text. I stare at trees like they owe me answers. I…

I get it. You’re out there, grinding away on a 30-year-old city bike. The wheels feel like they’re made of cement. The gears shift like they’re negotiating a peace treaty. And every time some Lycra-clad road warrior blows past you, you feel like you might as well be pedaling a unicycle in clown shoes. But…

I once bought a cheap beer to save a dollar. Drank it, hated it, and spent the whole night regretting my life choices. That’s how riding on basic bike tires feels once you switch to something better. If you’re still riding on stock Bontragers or some generic rubber that came with your bike, I have…

By Someone Who’s Been Nearly Murdered on Two Wheels Let’s be honest: American roads are war zones. And in this war, cyclists are the foot soldiers—under-equipped, outnumbered, and constantly dodging artillery fire from two-ton machines piloted by caffeine-addled, road-raging lunatics. I’ve been bumped, cursed at, nearly run off the road, and once, a guy literally…

There I was, staring at my feet like they owed me money. One shoe was a stiff, overpriced chunk of carbon and marketing jargon. The other? A basic, plastic-soled, Velcro-strapped relic of my naïve past. Both fit. Both pedaled. Both got me from A to B. But was there a difference? Hell yes. Was it…

I’m barreling down the mountain, rain slashing my face like an ex-lover’s angry fingernails. The road below me shines like a drunk’s forehead under a neon sign. My fingers are locked around the brake levers, whispering sweet nothings to them—please, just this once, don’t let me die. Rim brakes in the rain. Some people call…