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One thing about cycling that I often associate with addiction is the tendency to push it further. As with bike maintenance and cycling itself, the common practice is to push it to The Edge, even if we can’t honestly say what The Edge really is because nobody has yet come out of it alive.

In any case, any cyclist can start with an entry-level bike, like say a Shimano Sora drive train. He then finds out what a P5k difference between a Shimano Sora and Tiagra bike components can do to his cycling performance, so that he takes to upgrading his bike all the way to the DuraAce group set.

The same holds true in cycling. Almost always cycling has been about pain and misery, which most people easily recognize. But what they forget is the pleasure that a body gets from cycling. I don’t know about drug addiction but I’m pretty sure that cyclists are not all stupid to sweat and suffer for nothing. There must be something in it that is, at the very least, likeable.

But when do you say enough? I wouldn’t want to be caught alive saying that while in the middle of a harsh 100-mile bike push. But perhaps it is all right. After all, I am not into competitive cycling. Still it’s hard to think about it. What is more disturbing is the change in lifestyle that cycling has brought upon me, and to friends I have known through cycling. If I learned anything from college, it is that there is a thin line that separates hobby from addiction. And we are walking that very thin line, finding truth as we did in the following:

Your bike has more mileage that your car.

You got rid of your La-Z-Boy to accommodate the bike inside your room

You turn into a morning person.

And habitually make out before sunup, like it is night.

You see girl cyclists second, their bikes first.

You know what they mean when someone is being a “pain in the ass.”

You almost always need three extra servings of rice.

You know where the best places in your neighborhood are, to bike as well as to eat.

You don’t eat, you devour.

Your skin color is only a little fairer than the village idiot’s.

You think that 44-36-40 is not an overweight wench, but a desirably beautiful gear ratio you want to set up on your bike.

You have trouble getting to work by 8 a.m., but you don’t have any problems waking up at 5 in the morning for a weekend bike push.

You ride less in the neighborhood, where the roads are bad and you can’t speed up, and more on designated bike tracks and highways.

You become an environmentalist, and develop huge disgust at tricycles.

You no longer need a handkerchief to blow your nose.

You accept crashes not only as a part of competitive cycling, but an opportunity as well to upgrade bike parts.

You empathize with road kills.

You shop for a car and consider not its engine or transmission capacities, but its room space and rack add-ons to fit your bike.

You have more bike jerseys than polo shirts.

(Excerpt from Philippine Bicycle Diaries)