Type II Fun Is My Love Language: Bike Therapy Edition
E-bike mishaps, missing pads, and why the best rides—and relationships—are messy.
E-bike Joy (and a Hint of Chaos)
Early season, and I’m out on my e-bike, doing one of my favorite things: seeing just how much turbo power I can throw at the trail, this time it’s Puke Hill (yes, that’s what the crew calls it—mountain bikers are nothing if not honest).
There’s a special kind of joy in cranking up a climb—legs and battery both working overtime, heart pounding, and my inner child yelling, “Wheee!”
This is my soul’s happy place.
Asphalt Aromatherapy & Existential Interruptions
And then, because the universe has a sense of humor, I get smacked in the face with the unmistakable scent of fresh asphalt.
Road crew, bless them, are out there repaving. Suddenly, my peaceful ride is interrupted by thoughts about air quality, appreciation for the road crew, and a quick check-in with my lungs about how they’re handling the situation.
(Spoiler: they make their displeasure known.)
Where You Look, You Go (Or, How Not to Crash)
You know the rule: where you look, you go.
So instead of focusing on the trail (and, you know, not getting seriously hurt), I’m checking out what the workers are doing, pondering the interconnectedness of all things, and—oh, look—here comes a loose, rocky, high-G corner that I’m now entering at “questionable” e-bike speed.
I wash out, eat dirt, and realize, mid-crash, that my knee and elbow pads are at home.
(I washed them, and they were not put back together. They’re falling apart anyway. I have excuses. None of them help me now.)
The Solo Flop
There’s blood.
There’s no one around to witness my dramatic flop (or offer sympathy snacks).
My first aid kit? Removed from my pack for an event and never returned.
I am, in this moment, a cautionary, bloody tale on two wheels and 500 watts.
Why Not Just Be Safe?
This is the part where I hear the familiar questions in my head from well-meaning friends, family, and society at large:
“Why do you do this to yourself? Why not just stick to the safe, paved path? Why not pick comfort instead of courting chaos (and gravel in my shorts)?”
And honestly, Type I fun—the easy, breezy, no-challenge kind—is fine. It’s pleasant.
It’s also, for me, a little bit like eating plain oatmeal for dinner. Sometimes you want spice. Sometimes you want more challenge, vibrancy, and engagement with living.
The Magic of Type II (and III) Fun
Type II fun is where the magic happens.
It’s the stuff that feels like a mistake while you’re in it but becomes legend by the time you’re cleaning gravel out of your knee.
Sometimes it even veers into Type III—where it’s not fun at all, but at least you get a good story (and a scab that makes you look tough at the grocery store, and one that your little human can’t stop touching).
Riding, Relationships, and Resilience
Mountain biking (yes, even with a motor), like relationships, is a dance with discomfort.
My partner and I? We’re Type II/III fun people—on the trail and in life.
Safe is easy, but it’s the mess, the challenge, the “well, that escalated quickly” moments that grow us.
Sometimes you’re out there, solo, bleeding and cursing your lack of preparation.
Sometimes you’re in a partnership, facing down old patterns and wondering if you’ll ever get it right.
The Takeaway
But here’s the thing: resilience is built in the struggle.
You learn to breathe, to focus, to get back on the bike (literally and metaphorically).
You learn who you are when things go sideways.
And sometimes, you even learn to pack your damn first aid kit.
Here’s to the Messy, Beautiful Ride
Here’s to the blood, sweat, and existential detours.
Here’s to loving adventurously—on bikes, in relationships, and everywhere else.
Because the best stories, and the best growth, happen when you’re a little bit lost, a little bit scraped up, and a whole lot alive.