The Coffeeneuring Challenge has begun and I have tentatively sat atop my bicycle.
In short, the challenge is to:
Ride your bike to 7 times to 6 different locations from Saturday October 11 through Monday November 24, 2025, and drink a coffeeneuring-approved beverage. Any place where you can drink a coffeeneuring-approved beverage counts as a location. This could be a coffee shop, café, gas station, or even a coffee shop without walls (see #3!). You may use one location twice (see Rule 12)! Reusable cups or mugs highly encouraged! Please, whenever you can, bring your own mug or ask for a real drinking cup that can be washed. That may not be feasible everywhere, but let’s do our part where we can.
The challenge officially starts on the 11th of October, but rule 2 stipulates that early birds can start theirs on the 10th of October. This rules suits me well this year as I am going to be away from home and any bicycle access for two weeks of the challenge.
So on Thursday the 9th of October, I went to check on my bicycle. I had last set eyes on it on the 25th of July when I pampered it under the summer sun. It was a healing of sort, an act of love towards my most beloved possession, the one that is so indistinctly a part of me I cannot help to think of myself as a modern centaur, all flesh and wheels, blood and cogs.
Prior to this, I have last looked at it on the 6th of April. That day, I sat on it and went in search of blossoms scattered across my neighbourhood. It was a mistake. My mind was slowly recovering from the long descent into the pit of long covid, but my body was not ready. I have never regretted this ride but it was part of a whole that caused a months long crash.
I fear my bicycle a little, fear my ability to turn the pedals and keep my heart rate steady. I have said it before, I will say it again: the trouble with cycling is that I love it too much. Once I start, I do not want to stop.
I am stronger these days, less unwell, if not well. I am afraid to cycle as much as I long to return to the saddle. I mentally sign up for the challenge and allow the possibility of cycling back to my life. This will not be the easy care free cycling of days gone by. I will not casually set myself astride the saddle and depart with no care in the world and only the vaguest of destination as a goal to maybe reach. This is carefully planned.
On Friday the 10th of October, I wheel the bicycle out of storage, dust the saddle, and pump the tyres. I hook the handlebar bag easily. I push on the pedal and propel myself upwards, I lean my other leg out and rest for a moment to feel for my heartbeat. It is still enough.
I pedal in a gear that makes my legs turn and not push. My jacket pinches under my armpits. I purchased it in the long months with no cycling and never once thought of sleeve behaviour when hunched forward. I adjust the jacket and cycle on.
The ride is hardly pleasant. It follows neighbourhood streets filled with cars and blind spots. I have to navigate drivers and roadworks for most of it, and my body feels strange in the position I used to know so well. My hands though remember. I can neither lay them flat or fully close them without conscious effort. They are always curved as if embracing a handlebar and I don't want to ever correct this behaviour.
I make it to one of my local park, just about one mile away which will satisfy the 2-Mile Minimum Distance of rule 8. At the park, I rest my steed by a wooden table, unpack my breakfast and my book, and walk to the coffee horseshoe box by the car park. I order a decaf flat white lest I want my heart to go racing, my stomach to clench in pain, and my skin to break out in rivers of sweat. This is going to be one of the rare coffees of this challenge. I am much more of a tea person but on occasion, I'll diverge.
I return to the table, mug in hand, and settle down. I eat and drink and read to the sound of the generator powering the coffee machine. Children too young to go to school slowly gather around the play equipment. Dog walkers greet each other in ritual recognition. I sit and watch, the words in the book barely read. The coffee is warm and mild. I don't mind it. The coffee was never the point.
I ride home, slowly, carefully. My mind is focused on the beat of my heart, needing it to remain steady. My body is a little more relaxed, my hunched back less awkward that a half hour earlier.
