The strange thing is that none of these moments appears in race results. Nobody gets a trophy for riding an entire season without a puncture. There are no medals for getting a tailwind both ways or managing to keep a recovery ride easy. Yet every cyclist knows these moments matter. In some cases, they matter more than the ride itself.
They’re the stories you tell later. The tiny victories, lucky breaks, and absurd coincidences that become part of your cycling identity. The Epiq moments only another cyclist can truly appreciate.
The epic wins nobody else understands
Most sports are wonderfully straightforward. You win, you lose, or you spend years arguing with referees. Cycling is different. Some of the most satisfying achievements never appear in any official record.
Take riding an entire season without a puncture. To a non-cyclist, that’s maintenance. To a cyclist, that’s a statistical anomaly worthy of academic research. Or consider increasing your FTP by 1 W/kg. Nobody outside cycling will understand why you’re smiling at a spreadsheet. Yet every rider knows exactly how many hours, intervals, and moments of self-doubt are hiding behind that number. Not to mention the missed beer opportunities with friends.
Then there are the strangely personal milestones. Climbing more than 2,400 meters in a single ride. Completing a 50-kilometre ride without stopping once. Managing to keep a recovery ride easy despite every instinct screaming for “just one hard effort”. The last one is perhaps the hardest and rarest achievement in modern cycling.
No trophies. No podium ceremonies. No prize money. Just the deep satisfaction of accomplishing something that only a handful of equally obsessed people will truly appreciate. Which, somehow, makes it even better.
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The strange acts of kindness cyclists never forget
Cycling has a funny way of turning complete strangers into temporary coworkers. Not friends. Not acquaintances. Just people united by a shared desire to avoid riding into a headwind alone.
Take the silent alliance. You find yourself next to another solo rider. Nobody introduces themselves. Nobody exchanges names. Yet thirty seconds later, you’re taking turns at the front with the coordination of a professional team pursuit squad. Then, twenty kilometres later, one of you turns off, raises a hand, and disappears forever. The entire relationship lasted less than an hour and somehow felt completely normal.
The same strange social rules exist everywhere. A driver positions their car perfectly so you can lean on it at a traffic light and avoid unclipping. A café gives you a discount simply because you arrived dressed like a fluorescent highlighter. A stranger buys you a beer after hearing how far you’ve ridden, which is one of the few situations where talking about your ride mileage is socially acceptable.
When you’re riding a bike, you can see how epic people can truly be.
The stories you’ll be telling your grandchildren
Most rides are forgotten surprisingly quickly. You remember the general route, perhaps the coffee stop, and little else. Then there are the rides that become stories.
Like the first time you cross a national border on a bike. Nothing really changes. The road remains a road. Yet somehow, rolling into another country under your own power feels disproportionately satisfying. The same applies to spotting a deer standing motionless in the forest, watching you pass like a mildly disappointing nature documentary.
Then there are the stories nobody outside cycling fully appreciates. A professional rider follows you on Strava. You hit 80 km/h on a descent and spend the next week mentioning it in conversations that had absolutely nothing to do with cycling. You complete a ride abroad and immediately begin referring to it as your “international cycling experience”.
The best part is that every cyclist has a few of these stories. And every single one gets better with age.
Perfectly rational by cycling standards
Every hobby has its own language. Cycling simply takes things a little further and occasionally drifts into behaviour that would seem deeply irrational to outside observers.
Take drafting a complete stranger for five kilometres. To a cyclist, this is a perfectly reasonable arrangement. To everyone else, it looks suspiciously like following someone home. The same goes for blasting through a puddle at full speed despite having every opportunity to avoid it. There is no practical benefit. The cyclist does it anyway.
Then there are the moments that make even less sense. Someone compliments your bike, and you immediately gain ten watts. Your crush likes a ride photo, and suddenly your resting heart rate is no longer resting. You score a date while riding and immediately convince yourself that cycling is the greatest social invention since the telephone.
None of this makes much sense. Yet every cyclist reading this understands it perfectly. Which is either a beautiful thing or evidence that we’ve all spent far too much time on bicycles. Probably both.
Are you an Epiq moment hunter?
The funny thing about Epiq moments is that you rarely see them coming. Nobody starts a ride expecting to find a perfect tailwind in both directions. Nobody leaves home planning to form a silent alliance with a complete stranger, receive a free pastry at a café or spend the next week talking about a deer they saw in a forest. Yet these are often the moments we remember most.
They’re not race victories. They won’t earn you a trophy, a jersey or a lucrative professional contract. Most of them won’t even make sense when you try explaining them to non-cyclists. But every rider knows exactly why they matter.
That’s the idea behind the Epiq Moments Bingo game. We took forty of these weird, wonderful, and strangely meaningful cycling experiences and turned them into a challenge. Some will happen sooner than you think. Others may take years to collect.
The real question isn’t whether you’ll complete the card. It’s how many Epiq moments you’ve already experienced without realising they deserved a bingo card of their own.
