I didn’t find myself in a mirror. I found myself in motion.
Not in the quiet stillness of staring at a reflection, but in the rush of wind against my face, the creak of pedals under my weight, the chain pulling me forward. Identity didn’t come to me sitting still—it arrived kilometre after kilometre, on two thin wheels rolling through the restless veins of Chittagong.
For many, a bicycle is just a machine of steel, rubber, and grease. For me, it became a mirror, a teacher, a companion, and ultimately the pen with which I write my life.
The Roads That Built Me
I used to believe that identity was something declared, official, and fixed: stamped on a card, etched into documents, carried as proof in a wallet. But no ID card ever told me who I really was. It was on the road, pushing through traffic, delivering parcels and food, sweating under a relentless sun, that I began to uncover the raw edges of myself.
The first lesson cycling taught me was humility. The streets don’t care about your pride. Whether you’re pedalling a fixed gear bike with a 48×17t ratio chasing horizons or struggling on a loaded single speed, the road tests you the same. It throws potholes at your wheels, buses at your shoulder, storms in your path. And every time I faced them and kept pedalling, I discovered another layer of who I am.
Courier by day, creator by night.
Two sides of the same wheel, forever turning.
Why I Keep Pedalling Even on Bad Days
Not every day is smooth. There are mornings when my body feels heavier than the bike itself, when my legs ache before I even start, when the air feels too hot, too heavy, too suffocating. There are evenings when deliveries run late, when traffic crushes patience, when I ask myself why I do this.
But still, I clip in. Still, I push off. Still, I ride.
Because cycling has taught me that the wheel is a promise: it keeps turning. No matter how bad a day seems, the moment I pedal, I am reminded that movement is medicine. The motion itself is healing. On bad days, cycling doesn’t erase my struggles, but it transforms them—converting pain into rhythm, fatigue into progress, frustration into distance covered.
The wheel whispers: This too shall pass, just keep turning.
Why Wheels Whisper Louder Than Books
I love reading. But no book ever taught me patience the way a red light does when I’m fasting under the sun. No chapter on endurance ever hurt my lungs the way a 100 km ride on a fixie does. No story about joy ever matched the rush of a long downhill after a climb that nearly broke me.
Books give me wisdom in words.
Wheels give me wisdom in sweat.
Every ride is a library, every kilometre a lesson. A sudden pothole whispers humility. A climb whispers resilience. A descent whispers gratitude. And the silence of a late-night ride whispers peace louder than any meditation guide could.
That is why I say: wheels whisper wisdom louder than books.
Endurance: The Bond Between Writing and Cycling
Writing and cycling live on the same breath.
When I first started writing, I thought it was about sudden inspiration—a spark, a rush of words. But I learned quickly that real writing, like real riding, is about endurance. It’s about returning to the page even when it feels empty. It’s about pedalling into headwinds of doubt, holding rhythm when fatigue sets in.
A sprint is exciting, but it is endurance that reveals who you are.
On the road, it means pushing past the point of comfort.
On the page, it means writing even when the words feel clumsy.
Cycling trained me to endure. Writing gave meaning to my endurance. They are two wheels of the same cycle, turning in rhythm.
Courier and Creator: The Balance of Two Worlds
People often look at delivery riders and see only labour. But to me, being a courier is not separate from being a creator—it’s one continuum.
When I deliver, I’m not just carrying food or parcels. I’m carrying stories. Every customer waiting on the other side, every alley I pass, every stranger who nods or frowns, becomes part of a larger narrative.
The city is my canvas.
The bike is my brush.
Each delivery is a stroke.
At night, when I sit to write, I borrow from the day’s palette. The sweat dried on my shirt, the smell of fried food from a parcel, the kindness of a stranger holding open a gate—all of it becomes poetry. Courier work feeds my art. Art gives meaning to my courier life.
Fasting and Cycling: The Alchemy of Restraint
The hardest rides of my life happened during Ramadan. Imagine riding 45 km under the sun with no water, no food, and the weight of fatigue pressing harder with every pedal stroke. Some would call it foolish. But to me, it was alchemy.
Fasting and cycling together taught me restraint. It taught me that strength is not in having endless energy, but in spending limited energy wisely. It taught me to measure my breath, to honor patience, to ride not with recklessness but with faith.
The wheel and the fast became one rhythm: hunger in the stomach, strength in the soul.
When Delivery Work Becomes Art
Most people see delivery riders as invisible. Just another courier weaving through traffic, rushing parcels from door to door. But I see something else.
I see choreography. The dance of braking, turning, accelerating. The way the city becomes a stage where timing and rhythm matter. I see poetry in the repetition: pick-up, pedal, drop-off, repeat. Each day is painted in different colours—sometimes sunshine, sometimes rain, sometimes loneliness, sometimes laughter.
Delivery work, to me, is not just survival. It is an art form. A living performance where wheels, sweat, and streets create beauty unseen by most.
Tetulia to Teknaf: The Dream Ride of Horizons
There is one dream that lingers in my heart: the ride from Tetulia in the north to Teknaf in the south. The ultimate ride across Bangladesh. A line drawn across my homeland, stitched together by my legs, powered by nothing but faith and the 48×17t gear ratio of my fixie.
It is more than a ride. It is a metaphor.
Pedalling toward horizons that never end.
Learning life lessons at every kilometre.
Crossing bridges both real and symbolic.
On that ride, fatigue would become my teacher. Repetition would become progress. Every turn of the crank would be a sentence, every kilometre a paragraph. By the end, the road itself would become a novel written in sweat, breath, and determination.
Dreaming of Hajj on Two Wheels
But beyond Tetulia to Teknaf, another dream burns brighter. The ride to Hajj.
To set out from Bangladesh, carrying only faith, a bicycle, and the will to endure. To cross borders, mountains, deserts, villages, and cities—all to reach Makkah on two wheels. People may say it is impossible. But to me, it is not just a ride. It is a pilgrimage of body and soul.
Hajj is about surrender. To do it by cycle would be surrender at its purest form: no engines, no shortcuts, just legs, lungs, and faith. Every kilometre a prayer, every rotation of the wheel a dhikr, every drop of sweat a testament.
One day, Insha’Allah.
Writing My Story One Kilometre at a Time
Some people write their life stories in diaries. I write mine in odometers. Every kilometre logged is a line in my autobiography. Every delivery is a paragraph. Every century ride is a chapter.
I don’t measure my worth by how much I earn per delivery. I measure it by how much of myself I discover per ride. By the distances that teach me patience, by the fatigue that teaches me resilience, by the quiet midnight roads that teach me peace.
My story is not written in ink. It is written in motion.
Cycling: My Way of Living, Not Just Moving
To me, cycling is not transportation. It is transformation.
It is not just moving through the world, but moving with the world. It is how I breathe, how I pray, how I write, how I live.
Every day when I clip in and pedal away, I feel the truth: I am not escaping life on a bike—I am living it more deeply. With each turn of the crank, the wheels whisper wisdom, louder than any lecture, louder than any book. They whisper that life is not about arriving but about enduring. Not about speed, but about rhythm. Not about moving, but about becoming.
Cycling is not my hobby. It is my language, my prayer, my art, my way of life. And as long as the wheels keep turning, so will I.
Why I Keep Riding
Because on good days, cycling is joy.
On bad days, cycling is survival.
On every day, cycling is identity.
I am not just a courier.
I am not just a creator.
I am the road, the wheel, the whisper, the word.
And so I keep riding.
One kilometre at a time.
One story at a time.
One life, lived in motion.
ENG
