This article is part of a series called ‘A love letter to…’, where Cycling Weekly writers pour praise on their favourite cycling items and share the personal connection they have with them. In this case, it is a break-up letter, addressed to the author's cycling computer.
It's time we had a heart-to-heart. You and I have been through a lot together - countless miles, endless data streams, and a shared obsession with numbers that once fuelled my every pedal stroke. But as I sit here, reflecting on our journey, it's become clear that we've grown apart, dear cycling computer. Our relationship, once so tightly intertwined, has evolved into something different, something I can no longer ignore.
Remember when I used to pore over every watt, analyse every heart rate spike, and scrutinise every Strava segment? Those were the days when cycling was my life, my livelihood, a pursuit of personal bests and relentless improvement. And you were my trusted companion, faithfully recording every metric, every milestone along the way.
But times have changed, and so have I. No longer do I ride to chase numbers or to prove my worth against a digital leaderboard. My reasons for riding have shifted, morphing into something more profound, more soul-nourishing. These days, I saddle up to escape the chaos of daily life, to unplug from the digital noise and reconnect with the simple joy of being on two wheels.
And let's talk about those numbers, shall we? It's no secret that I'm not as fast as I used to be - not by a long shot. Every glance at my diminished power output, my slower average speeds, feels like a kick in the teeth, a reminder of my waning prowess.
But perhaps the most unsettling realisation came when my bikes were stolen, snatched away by faceless thieves who I believe may have used my Strava data to pinpoint the location of my home. The thought of my beloved rides being exploited for such ends sent shivers down my spine, prompting a reevaluation of my relationship with technology.
So here we are, at a crossroads of sorts, where I must bid you farewell. It's not that I don't appreciate all that you've done for me over the years. It's simply that our paths diverge now, leading me towards a quieter, more contemplative existence on the bike. I long to hear the birdsong, to feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, without the constant distraction of beeping alerts and flashing screens.
It's time for me to embrace the ride beyond the numbers. I want to revel in the freedom of unstructured exploration, and rediscover the pure, unadulterated joy of cycling for its own sake. So I bid you farewell. May you continue to serve others well on their own journeys, as I embark on a new chapter of mine.
