What the Chain Broke: 7 Things Cycling Has Completely Screwed Up for Me (and You Too, Admit It)

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 went ahead and rearranged the furniture in my soul.

This is what cycling ruins. All of it, from the wallet to the weather to the weekend. Don’t worry, it’s not a tragedy. It’s just life with fewer friends, fewer hobbies, and a whole lot of Lycra.

Bukowski would’ve hated spandex but man, he would’ve understood this obsession.

1. Hiking: The Walk of Shame

I’m walking up a trail with a friend. We’re sweating. Talking about birds, or divorce, or crypto.
But I’m not really there.

I’m thinking about the descent. The switchbacks. The way my bike would fly down this hill, wind in my ears like a whisper from God. Hiking now feels like foreplay with no intention of finishing.

Sorry hiking—you’re foreplay.
And I’m in a long-term relationship with speed.

2. Weather Forecasts: Doppler Be Damned

“Let me check my schedule,” I say.

Then I open the weather app.

Rain? Dentist appointment booked.
Sun? I’m free.
Snow? I suddenly believe in Zwift again.

Every cloud is either an enemy or a training opportunity. I plan my life like a farmer with a caffeine addiction. It’s not about mood anymore—it’s about wind speed and UV index.

3. Social Life: See You at 6AM or Never

My Saturday mornings are sacred. They start with bib shorts and chamois cream, not brunch.
If you want to hang out with me, you better bring a helmet.

Cycling killed drinking. It killed weddings. It turned late nights into recovery liability.
I RSVP to rides, not receptions.

I’ve lost people. But I’ve gained watts. Priorities, right?

4. Finances: The Black Hole with Two Wheels

There are no loyal friends in life, just loyal bike shops.
I’ve spent more money on chains than on therapy. And I needed both.

“Oh, that’s just a minor upgrade,” they say, smiling.
Next thing I know I’m $600 deep into a carbon handlebar that shaves 3 grams off and adds 5 inches to my ego.

My bank doesn’t call me anymore. They just quietly judge.

5. All Other Hobbies: RIP

I used to like music. Used to read. Used to golf. Even painted once.
Now I just… clean cassettes and compare tires.

Cycling doesn’t share me. It devours.

It wants my evenings, my weekends, my identity. My girlfriend says she misses me.
I’m right there beside her, foam rolling and watching hill climb videos. She doesn’t mean proximity. She means me.
But I gave that guy to the road years ago.

6. Travel: Ride or Regret

I can’t go anywhere anymore without thinking, “Man, this would be a sick ride.”
My vacations are bike-shaped. I pack bibs before underwear. I judge hotels by their proximity to Strava segments.

I see cities through a saddle now. Romantic dinners replaced with calorie reloading.
And my wife? She tolerates it like you’d tolerate a stray cat that keeps bringing in dead birds.
She’s proud and pissed off all at once.

7. The Entire Concept of Leisure

There’s no such thing as just a ride.
It’s either FTP, intervals, recovery, or gravel grind.

Cycling is supposed to be fun, but somewhere along the line, my heart rate monitor started controlling my serotonin.
I bought a hybrid once. Thought I’d cruise.
Ended up doing laps on Strava. I can’t help myself.

Even my rest days are meticulously optimized.

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TABLE SUMMARY: WHAT CYCLING HAS RUINED

Thing	How It Was Ruined
Hiking	Feels too slow. Trail becomes missed opportunity.
Weather	Becomes a performance forecast, not just “rain or sun.”
Social Life	Rides over brunch. Races over parties.
Finances	Bike parts > rent.
Other Hobbies	All time goes to riding. Everything else withers.
Travel	Vacations become scouting missions for roads/trails.
Leisure	No more “just for fun.” Everything’s training.

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CONCLUSION (Bukowski Style):

So here I am.
Ruined. Rebuilt. Ruined again.

I look at a pair of running shoes the way an ex-smoker looks at a lighter—nostalgic and a little disgusted.
I see my credit card statement and think, “That saddle was worth it.”
I skip parties, cancel plans, lie to friends.
All for this stupid machine.

But when I’m out there—screaming downhill, wind cutting my regret in half—I remember why.
It’s not about speed. Or metrics. Or KOMs.
It’s about something else.
Something you can’t explain to people who think “gear ratios” is a band name.

And the kicker?
I don’t even own a car anymore.
Hell, I don’t want one.
I trust a machine that can’t stand up by itself better than I trust people.

So yeah, cycling ruined my life.
But life needed ruining.

Now pass me the chain lube.