A CELEBRATION OF JUNK MILES

"No longer dreading my next bunch sprint, I felt like I belonged on my bike again"

-  ADAM SCHRAM

STRADDLING MY FIRST HAND-ME-DOWN bike, at just 12 years old, I felt like I had the entire world in front of me. My first kilometer-long solo ride around my neighbourhood was one of the most liberating moments of my young life – for the first time, I embraced the raw sense of freedom that we cyclists know so well, that feeling that I could blast off from my home block and never turn back.

Cycling was my greatest escape as a youngster. It was meditative and explorative, and I could make whatever I wanted of it. It carved out time that I could have all to myself, which was becoming sparse as my childhood waned. Riding helped me feel capable as I accomplished the silly, arbitrary goals I’d set for myself, and that pride swelled when my friends followed me on my aimless ambles through the mountains. Sure, we’d race each other up kickers and sprint for Strava segments, but we never thought we’d wasted a day if we did nothing more than spin through the hills.

Then I learned about junk miles.