The idea came to me not in the middle of a race, not while scrolling through cycling forums, not even from a coach or training plan. It came while I was locking up my single speed outside a coffee shop. My bike stood there—simple, clean, purposeful—its one gear catching the sunlight like a badge of honour. No derailleurs, no unnecessary complexity, just chain, crank, wheel, and faith.
It was at that moment I decided:
One gear. One objective.
No excuses, no shortcuts. The challenge wasn’t to be faster than others, but to be truer to myself.
Top Reasons to Ride a Single Speed
People often ask me why I ride single speed or fixed gear when the world is full of multi-speed carbon dreams, with electronic shifting and featherlight wheels. To them, a single speed feels primitive, even masochistic. But here’s the truth I’ve found:
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Simplicity is Freedom.
With one gear, the world becomes less cluttered. No more thinking about the right gear for a hill or a sprint. You have what you have. Your body adjusts, your rhythm adapts. Life feels cleaner.
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Maintenance is Minimal.
Fewer parts mean fewer problems. A quick wipe, a chain check, and I’m rolling. While others spend hours tuning derailleurs, I spend mine riding.
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Strength and Endurance.
One gear doesn’t forgive laziness. If it’s a hill, you climb it. If it’s wind, you push against it. Over time, the body grows resilient, legs stronger, lungs deeper.
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A Pure Connection.
There’s no machine in between me and the road. Just my cadence, my breath, my willpower. Every pedal stroke feels honest.
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A Statement of Intent.
In a world obsessed with shortcuts, a single speed whispers: I choose the long road. I choose effort. I choose clarity.
That’s why the Single Speed Bike Challenge isn’t just about distance—it’s about living differently.
Pedal for the Planet
Cycling has always been more than just recreation to me. It’s rebellion against pollution, noise, and dependency. When I mount my bike, I remind myself: every kilometre I ride is one less litre of fuel burned, one less puff of smoke in the air.
I ride for my lungs, yes, but also for the world’s lungs.
The Pedal for the Planet mindset is what makes me smile when sweat pours, when my thighs burn, when strangers in cars look at me like I’m crazy. They don’t realize—I am not just riding for myself.
I’m carrying the message that the planet deserves simpler choices, slower choices, cleaner choices. And nothing embodies that more than the stubborn honesty of a single speed bike.
The 100 KM Solo Fixed Gear Ride
One Sunday morning, I decided it was time to push beyond the daily courier miles, beyond commutes and errands. My goal was clear:
100 kilometers. Solo. Fixed gear.
My bike of choice: a 48×17t setup—a gear ratio that gives me about 76.2 gear inches. Enough speed for the flats, enough grind for the climbs, but never forgiving.
The route wasn’t about chasing PRs or drafting behind groups. It was about me, the road, and the hum of the chain.
Kilometre 1–20: Settling into Rhythm
The city still yawned awake. I passed tea stalls where steam rose from kettles, rickshaw pullers stretching their backs, children in sandals chasing footballs. My cadence found its groove. No rush, no panic—just legs spinning, lungs filling.
Kilometre 21–50: The Battle of the Mind
This is where the chatter begins. Why are you doing this? You could’ve been home sleeping. What’s the point of pushing so far?
But each pedal stroke whispered back: Because I can. Because I must.
On a fixed gear, there’s no coasting. Downhills aren’t rest; they’re wild, spinning legs keeping up with momentum. It forces mindfulness—no distractions, just presence.
Kilometre 51–80: The Quiet Flow
Something changed here. My body stopped resisting. My breath found rhythm, my legs felt lighter. I noticed details—the smell of fried snacks from roadside stalls, the laughter of school kids waving as I passed, the endless green fields shimmering under the sun.
This is what I call cycling meditation.
Kilometre 81–100: Faith and Fire
Fatigue arrived uninvited, as it always does. The fixed gear felt heavier, every rise in the road an insult. But this is where faith becomes fuel. I whispered prayers under my breath, not for speed, but for strength.
And in those final kilometers, something clicked. The bike and I weren’t separate anymore—we were one machine, one heartbeat, one stubborn streak of will.
When I finally reached 100 km, I didn’t raise my hands in victory. I just smiled, unclipped, and whispered to myself:
One gear. One objective. Done.
Cycling to Coffee Shops
Not every ride has to be epic. Sometimes, the greatest joy of a single speed is in the little rituals.
Riding to a coffee shop is my version of a pilgrimage. The journey matters as much as the destination. The clink of the cup, the smell of roasted beans, the quiet hum of life around me—it feels earned after miles on the saddle.
Some of my best writing has been done this way. Arriving sweaty, legs tired, but mind sharp. I pull out my notebook, jot down thoughts about rides, struggles, dreams. The bike leans against the wall outside, a silent partner, a reminder of the morning’s effort.
Coffee and cadence—both fuel different parts of me.
Why This Challenge Matters
The Single Speed Bike Challenge isn’t about numbers or medals. It’s about proving that in a world of endless choices, sometimes the greatest strength comes from choosing less.
It’s about showing that discipline and freedom are not opposites—they are partners. The one gear disciplines you, but in that discipline, you find true freedom.
It’s about riding not just for fitness, but for meaning. Not just for yourself, but for the planet.
It’s about discovering that every 100 km solo ride is a journey inward, not just outward.
It’s about sitting in a coffee shop afterward, sipping slowly, knowing that what you just did was more than cycling—it was living deliberately.
One Gear, One Life
Life itself feels like a single speed ride. There are no shortcuts, no easy gears to shift into when things get hard. You just keep pedalling. Some days the wind is against you, some days the road lifts you forward. But the objective remains:
Keep going. Keep believing. Keep riding.
One gear. One objective.
Not just on the bike, but in everything.
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