Edit Desk: Flames and freedom

At five years old, learning to ride a bike felt like a rite of passage. But it quickly became something more, sparking a sense of curiosity. 

As anyone in my family will tell you, I was a curious kid who paid attention to everything. 

I loved learning how things worked and had no problem going up to complete strangers to ask them questions. Weekends meant exploring New York, wandering through neighborhoods and playgrounds I hadn’t seen before. 

My first bike, painted green with red flames, expanded the area I could explore. I would beg my mom to ride with me around Manhattan, usually to little success. 

Eventually, I outgrew that little green bike and needed a new one. I got a jet black commuter bike, a Trek FX, for my birthday, and I couldn’t wait to take it for a spin. 

The freedom of finally being old enough to ride on my own got to me. I started biking around Manhattan and quickly fell in love with riding in Central Park. 

There was a certain tranquility in a city like New York that came with having no cars on the road with you. I would get lost in time and do loop after loop around the park, moving slowly but with purpose. 

After years of exploring New York and getting lost in unfamiliar neighborhoods nearly every weekend, I realized I wanted to do more. 

It’s nearly impossible to spend more than five minutes in Central Park without seeing packs of cyclists flying by on colorful, expensive-looking road bikes wearing uniforms.

During my countless rides in the park, my curiosity got the best of me, and I started talking to the road cyclists about their training. 

They told me they rode about 20 miles a day. 

20 miles a day? On a bike? That’s nearly twice the length of Manhattan. 

As skeptical as I was, it sounded exciting, and I wanted in. 

I wanted the feeling of speed, the freedom of the distance and the acceptance within the community that came with owning a road bike. 

After nearly two years of waiting and researching, the day finally came. I thought I was walking into the bike shop to buy a Trek Domane — an entry-level road bike worth a couple thousand dollars with the features I needed. But something else caught my eye. 

Bright fire red paint, sleek aero handlebars, electronic shifting and a full carbon frame —  the Trek Madone. 

Walking into a shop for a Domane and leaving with a Madone is like going to a car dealership for a Prius and leaving in a Mustang. 

I left the shop with no idea what I was doing and a monetary dent comparable to buying a car. 

That’s when my real cycling journey began. 

Getting a road bike means learning almost everything about biking from scratch. I had to learn how to clip in and out of my pedals, which led to several falls at red lights. I had to figure out shifters, clean my chain, remove wheels and fix issues as they came up. 

These are things that I had never done before, and I had no one to teach me. 

Without expertise, YouTube became my go-to instructor for hours of bike care videos. 

As I rode more, I quickly realized I’d chosen an expensive sport. Beyond the bike itself, there were maintenance costs, kits, a bike computer, glasses, a helmet and cleaning supplies. It was thousands of dollars before even accounting for licenses, club memberships and race fees. 

But cycling was about more than cost or speed. It was about community. 

I had never realized how large the road cycling community in New York was until I rode down Route 9W in New Jersey a few summers ago. 

I expected to see a few other cyclists. Instead, there were hundreds riding the route —  some solo, some with friends and some in clubs. 

I joined a club of my own, which quickly became a group of friends, motivators, mechanics and, most importantly, an escape from everyday stress. 

No matter what exam score I got that day in class, or that paper I couldn’t figure out how to start, I knew I could escape to Central Park at 6:45 p.m. and leave it all behind with the wind at my back as I caught up with my friends. 

What started with my five-year-old self’s curiosity on a little green bike has grown into a passion built on freedom, friendship and a community I can’t imagine living without.