Meditation with finger duty
For me, gravel biking means silence. No screen, no multitasking, no jostling for words. Just the breeze, skylark, blackcap. And the quiet hissing of tyres on gravel.
Gravelling means getting out of the world.
Unfortunately, this only applies until the first oncoming traffic appears.
Because as soon as the handlebars are bent a little outwards and the tyre a little wider, you suddenly belong to a community that nobody founded - but which has surprisingly clear rules.
Formula: Handlebar flare plus tyre tread equals mandatory greeting.
The social pressure of outstretched fingers
Gravelers greet gravelers. That is the law.
One finger folds outwards, sometimes two. A small gesture, barely visible - and yet socially highly charged. Saying hello means: I see you. Not greeting means: I see you and ignore you.
I am in need of harmony. I don't want to be a person who doesn't say hello back. Actually!
If you say hello and get nothing in return, your mood sinks. If someone greets you and you respond too late, your mood also drops.
Aura 2000 becomes Aura Zero.
The fear of the wrong greeting
Things get complicated where the forest ends.
Because then they come: the racing cyclists.
Does the graveler greet the roadie? The roadie certainly doesn't greet the graveler. Mostly not. Maybe rarely. Maybe never. I don't know exactly - I don't dare to test it systematically.
So I start scanning. Handlebar shape. Tyre width. Seating position. Speed. A split-second decision.
Cycling should be meditation. Instead, I'm doing field research. Annoying!
Strategies against the obligation to greet
I have tried various solutions.
A grin, for example. A universal substitute greeting. Unfortunately, he seems slightly confused on the open road. Debil almost. I don't want to be a grinning August. Nodding is also stupid. Is that it? A little bit.
So ...
So: sprinting.
If you sprint, you can't say hello. Everyone understands that. Unfortunately, continuous sprinting is not a sustainable life strategy. It's too exhausting.
My favourite thing would be to simply not say hello to anyone.
Just like windsurfing back in the eighties. At first, everyone who had a board on their roof had their headlights flashed. Then, when suddenly everyone had a board on the roof of their car - in the 1980s, every second household had a windsurfing board! - the flashing lights stopped again.
Only motorcyclists continue to salute to this day.
I was once one too.
Back then I decided to keep my hands on the handlebars of my Yamaha XT-500.
Safety first.
My suggestion for easing the situation
Maybe we could just stop.
All at the same time.
Not out of rudeness. But out of consideration for the mental health of other road users.
Because for me, gravel is peace and quiet.
And peace begins when I no longer have to decide whether I am obliged to lift a finger.
Hence my suggestion:
Don't say hello to me.
I don't say hello to you either.
Dimitri Lehner
Editor
