The Magic of Biking to Work

My front light died halfway through my ride to work this morning. Not ideal, but what can you do besides enjoy it? For the first time I noticed the dandelion glow on the horizon. I noticed how far the flashing red rays project from the traffic light, how far they guide me. It felt even quieter.

I feel like I should preface my philosophy by saying that I’m not trying to push a particular narrative about myself and my story, no woe is me. I consciously abstain from what I call the ‘I’ve had it harder’ Olympics. I’m also not proposing that my way of doing things will work for everyone, or save the world. I’m writing about what brings me happiness and fulfillment.

Recently I read a Substack article about resistance, Wendell Berry style. To Berry, resistance doesn't have to be something big and extravagant. To Americans who fall outside of what is considered “acceptable,” resistance is existing as you are. Resistance is choosing to love and accept yourself when you are told not to.

When I started biking to work, I faced a lot of criticism. I still do. It comes from coworkers who don’t know the first thing about me or biking. It comes from folks behind the wheel who don’t want me there and make sure I know it. It’s in roads without shoulders, designed without consideration for non-motorized travel. When I first started biking to work, it was a major stressor. This is because biking to work is an act of resistance, and of course this is inextricably connected to why I bike to work, a question seldom asked in sincerity.

So...why do I? First of all, gas prices are skyrocketing, and for me it is contradictory to drive to work, then do cardio when I get home when I could accomplish both at once with in reason. 

Furthermore, exercising practicality is also a way to connect with my heritage. I grew up hearing stories of my great-grandma saving plastic cereal bags. I feel a strange affection when I notice my mom stretching the use of toiletries. This is not romanticizing poverty. I’m not hoarding or taking resources away from those who need it more. I’m strategically spending my money—money saved from biking to work is used to buy local. I never use Amazon. This behavior should be normal, not exceptional.

I can happily report, though, that the ride keeps getting better and better. Now that the major concerns have been attended to I get to appreciate the time outside and the exercise in a hectic life. I love the quiet and darkness of the morning, I need it. I arrive at work feeling accomplished and inspired to write. I make sure to get to work a little early so I can record the morning's inspiration in my journal: 

"My life is one resistance after another. Resisting mindless consumption. Resisting breast reconstruction. Resisting needless guilt, internalized misogyny. Of course life feels hard, because it is. Biking to work is so far outside the norm, of course people don't like it, have something to say. Sticking out like a sore thumb is hard, even if you believe in the cause. It is not wrong to feel that way. God made me this way. Of course I should find ways to cope, but it's not healthy to avoid resisting in order to avoid uncomfortable emotions. I don't want to conform in a world ruled by vice.” 3/20/26

"Angry getting ready to go to work. Angry on the ride. So much to be angry about - the facts themselves, the unfairness that I, alone, understand. It is exhausting. What gives me hope? Same as always - the freedom of simplicity, the allure of the open road." 3/23/26

"Biking into work this morning was pretty cold, I had frost in my hair - invigorating! [later that day] Today...ups and downs. Loved the ride home." 3/24/26

"Feeling incredibly grateful for my body this morning after my ride to work. I love how I can push my body so much, the resilience and the adaptability. My horizons expand further with every ride." 3/26/26

"The moon was low in the sky when I rode in but it was amber-colored golden loveliness. I like the persona I'm cultivating at work. I bike to work even and bad conditions and don't rub it in, stick to myself." 3/30/26

"The ride to work this morning was the most beautiful of all time: a big, bright moon illuminating clouds plump with rain. 60 degrees, the ground wet and warm with aromas that remind me of past wonders. I have so much reverence for the sky and a soft breeze." 4/3/26

"Bike ride at 21 degrees this morning, The ride is getting noticeably brighter every day. It all feels too much for language." 4/7/26

"Wind on the ride home was rough, the ride took 55 minutes instead of the normal 45. Felt drained after, before I got home I reminded myself to not let some wind ruin my mood fort he rest of the day." 4/8/26

On my ride home I’ve made it a routine to fill up one grocery bag full of trash. It was getting depressing biking by a blanket of litter on the roadside, and I find a lot of fulfillment watching my route get a little cleaner every day. I am not under the rosy misperception that my actions will save the world. In fact, I strategically pick up trash for myself, not for others. Cleaning up the side of the road for those who treat it as a trash can would only leave me jaded. When I pick up trash, my inner chatter subsides, and all that’s left is a feeling of fulfillment, a feeling that this is what I am meant to do. My duty is to be of service. I am inspired by the power of individual choice discussed in Planet Walker and in Bhagavad Gita 2.47:

"You have the right to perform your prescribed duties, but you are not entitled to the fruits of your actions.”

I am not picking up trash for some other reward—the picking up of the trash is the goal, the endgame. I was raised to love the sting in my muscles when I work hard, and I have learned to accept service as an integral part of my life. The quiet labor of bike riding is the perfect mix of both that has me coming back again and again.

"But we cannot be free from discomfort," Wendell writes, "without becoming subject to the whims and abuses of centralized power, and to any number of serious threats to our health."

The hardest part of my bike ride is overcoming the resistance I feel from the world around me, but if my actions weren’t causing some upheaval in a world like ours I would be concerned. Just like I repetitively pedal my legs again and again, I constantly address the little voice in the back of my head that wants me to conform, finding more strength during every cycle.

Besides any deeper meaning, I like riding to work because I get to see farm animals on the ride home, I’ve earned respect from coworkers and supervisors, and I feel pretty badass when I pick up farm-fresh eggs on my bicycle.