…Until the crunch becomes a slide, the golden trees become a blur, and you find yourself asking,
“Was that a leaf or a portal to the underworld?”
Welcome to autumn cycling, where every ride is a postcard until it isn’t, and your rear tyre is one wet maple leaf away from becoming a horizontal decorative item.
This is the story of seasonal beauty, collective denial, and the bills that come when nature decides you need humbling.
The lie begins on Instagram
You post it.
That photo. The one where you’re framed by trees like you’re starring in a gravel calendar.
Your bike leans artfully against a fence. Your socks are matching. The filter is warm sunset glow.
What no one sees is:
– The 12 minutes it took to wedge your bike into that bush
– The way your rear wheel fishtailed as you tried to look casual
– The fact that your gloves are wet, your nose is dripping, and you’ve already whispered “oh no” six times on wet corners
You are living a lie. But so is everyone else.
Enemy is everywhere
Autumn leaves are stunning.
Until you ride on them.
Dry, they crunch.
Wet, they scheme.
They hide potholes. They disguise metal covers. They gang up in corners. They are Mother Nature’s banana peel collection.
You approach a downhill turn covered in foliage and suddenly your entire life flashes before your eyes, mostly because your front wheel just said absolutely not today, sir.
You don’t brake.
You hover over your levers like you’re defusing a bomb made of tree guts.
Group ride bravado
Someone will say it:
“It’s just a bit slippy, ride light.”
Light?
You are 74 kilograms of tension and regret on a 7 kg bike.
You don’t ride light. You ride like someone trying to pass a surprise maths test while standing on marbles.
Meanwhile, the group’s resident fearless rider goes full send into every leaf-covered turn like they’ve made peace with whatever comes next.
They say things like:
– “Trust the tyres.”
– “It’s all about feel.”
– “I love autumn rides!”
You say nothing. Because you’re too busy clenching with your whole body.
Inevitable fall
It’s never dramatic.
You don’t crash so much as… give up traction slowly while whispering “oh no oh no oh no.”
You go down with elegance and shame.
You are cushioned slightly by damp leaves.
But mostly by your sense of dignity leaving your body.
You sit there, checking for damage.
To your bike.
To your elbow.
To your reputation.
Someone helps you up.
Someone else says, “That looked soft.”
You smile. You nod. You are silently scheduling a physio appointment in your head.
Recovery, and the denial reset
You patch yourself up. You hose down your derailleur. You swear to be more careful next time.
Then you see it: A new patch of golden leaves. A bit of sun through the trees. A turn that looks just fine.
You line up your phone. You angle your bike. You post it with the caption:
🍂 golden hour 🍂
You are the problem.
And you’ll do it again next week.
