You’ve finished your ride. You’ve climbed hills, outrun a wasp, and maybe even waved smugly at a runner. You’re tired. You’re sweaty. You’re pretty sure your left hamstring is considering resignation. There’s only one thing on your mind.
It’s summer. The sun is out. The roads are warm. Your tan lines are oddly specific. And in the distance, you see them: another cyclist, beautiful, glowing, legs spinning like poetry in motion. You make eye contact. You feel the stirrings of something…
The group chat says, “New rider joining this weekend. Be nice.” You nod. Of course. You are nice. You’re generous with your wheels, respectful of effort, and famously didn’t laugh (much) when someone unclipped on the wrong side and fell into a bush.
There’s something genuinely magical about discovering a new city on two wheels. Whether it’s your own trusty steed or a creaky rental that sounds like it has asthma, riding a bike while exploring a new place is the cycling version of a buffet. You get…
