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 cry behind my sunglasses. I curse at potholes. And I talk to my damn bike like it’s the only one who still listens.
This isn’t an advice column.
This is survival.
And survival looks like a sweaty guy whispering “I’m fine” at a gas station toilet.
First, some context.
Almost two years. That’s how long she and I built something on legs of love, coffee, and shared Spotify playlists.
Then one day, she was gone.
Now I’m left riding solo, literally. And it sucks.
If you’re reading this, maybe you’re like me—post-breakup, pre-peace, mid-ride, questioning everything. Welcome. Let’s navigate this madness together.
1. Suffer On Purpose
Pick the hilliest damn route you can find.
There’s a point on a steep climb where your legs are screaming so loud that your heart doesn’t stand a chance of being heard.
That’s when it quiets down inside. That’s when it starts to feel like freedom.
Let the burn in your thighs shut everything else off.
2. Embrace The Crazy
Talk to your bike. Tell it your secrets.
Name it Brenda or Carl.
When you stop at a café, pull it up to the table like it’s your awkward friend from high school. Whisper gossip to the handlebars. Let the baristas judge you. They’re still using paper straws.
3. Podcasts, Music, Madness
Let someone else’s voice fill the void. Audiobooks, true crime, philosophy—you decide. One guy said he listens to The Fragile. That’s not just a choice, that’s a diagnosis.
4. Find (Selective) Company
Try a club ride. Just once. Talk to strangers like you’re someone new.
Let the group energy distract you.
And when you’ve had enough fake smiles and chain lube talk, ghost them. They’ll understand. Cyclists are used to pain.
5. Redefine the Ride
Explore. Hunt new roads. Turn every ride into a micro-adventure. Use Komoot. Use dumb apps. Use your imagination.
You’re not riding away from love—you’re riding toward something else. You just don’t know what yet. That’s the fun part.
6. Feel It All
Cry. Rage. Snot.
Feel pathetic. Ride through the sadness. Let the wind slap the grief off your face. Someone said they “ride until there’s no feeling left.” That’s not melodrama, that’s therapy at 16 mph.
7. The Alone Isn’t the Problem
Being alone isn’t loneliness.
Solitude is sacred.
Your bike is a time machine with a chain. It takes you forward, one crank at a time. You don’t need anyone. Not always. Not today.
Summary Table: 7 Ways to Handle Loneliness on Rides
| Tip | Description |
|---|---|
| Suffer on purpose | Use pain to drown out heartbreak |
| Embrace the crazy | Talk to your bike, own the madness |
| Fill the silence | Podcasts, music, audiobooks |
| Ride with others sometimes | Break the solo cycle occasionally |
| Explore new routes | Chase novelty, not the past |
| Feel the feelings | Let emotions hit and move through you |
| Respect the solitude | Alone ≠ lonely; find peace in silence |
Conclusion
I rode 80 miles yesterday.
Didn’t think about her until mile 76.
That’s progress.
Or dehydration.
Look, I still miss her.
But now I miss her with quads of steel and a weird tan line.
And somewhere along the ride, the loneliness turned into something else.
Not joy. Not yet. But something… quieter.
You don’t have to outrun the grief.
Just outlast it.
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