A Story of Platonic Love

“If you were a man, we would probably be married”

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In the summer of 2023, I was pulled into a cross USA supported bike tour through a nonprofit, the Ulman Foundation, to raise money for young adults fighting cancer. I had already completed two solo bike tours prior to this one, and quite frankly, was hesitant, somewhat pompously disgusted by the notion of a van supported and pre-planned tour, but I agreed regardless, because I believe it is best to “do the thing” before deciding if your disapproving opinion is worthwhile of being sternly vocalized. I was afraid of being stuck with people who I did not like (which did happen), but as the trip went on, I realized that I would find other bikepacking friends who would want to go on crazy tours with me. One of which was Jima. 

A teammate named Jadyn from the summer tour asked all of us one day on the bike, somewhere in the middle of Colorado, “what do you love the most about yourself?”. For one teammate, he said it was how kind and helpful he is to people, regardless of if he likes them or not. Jadyn herself said how positive she always is, despite how terrible or challenging the circumstances could be. My answer was that when I say something, I mean it, and I do it. I am literal and I am honest- I am the friend who makes things happen. 

As we pedaled across the USA from Baltimore, MD, to San Francisco, CA, I casually mentioned that I wanted to bike across New Zealand later that year. It had been a thought in the back of my mind for a while- Hunt for the Wilderpeople made the New Zealand landscapes look beautiful. If they filmed that movie there, plus Lord of the Rings, and countless others, all because of the vast and beautiful landscapes, why shouldn’t I go? Besides, I’ve toyed with the idea of living abroad for a year or two, so perhaps this would be my excuse to check out the country before settling down in it. Jima overheard me mention New Zealand, and decided that they wanted to join as well. We talked about it for weeks, months, as we pedaled across the USA. Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Colorado, Utah, Nevada, California. Through the never ending corn fields of the MidWest, the Great Plains, over the whole Rocky Mountains, passing Bryce Canyon and Zion, a 200 mile day in the Great Basin followed by a climb up to Lake Tahoe and a swim in Jackson, CA, we talked about New Zealand. When we both made it back to Baltimore after crossing the country on two wheels, we booked our tickets to Christchurch. 

“If you were a man, we would probably be married” is what Jima said to me a few weeks into the trip. By that point we had already faced the insufferable 20mph headwinds biking from Christchurch to Rakaia Gorge on Day 1 of our tour. We had shared a tent for over a dozen days. We had cried and screamed and shamelessly threw irrelevant objects such as our plastic water bottles at the ground in frustration over matters such as wild camping restrictions. We had stuck together even when separated at different airports while my flight was delayed by six hours, causing me to miss my following three flights and having to rebook them in the airport lobby, wondering if the trip would even go on given that disaster had struck before I had left the country. We had faced a broken spoke and flat together in the middle of nowhere by Lake Ohãu. We had faced exhaustion, fatigue, and endorphin highs as we pedaled nearly 100km a day for a week straight, racing to Queenstown before Christmas Day, largely on hilly gravel roads. We had endured brutal sun and blistering heat, cold nights and rainy days. We had sighed in relief by taking time away from each other to pedal at our own pace, then rejoiced when we finally reunited at the halfway point. Our friendship was only a few months old, and our journey only a few weeks old, yet its was full of richness and love I had not experienced with my other relationships. 

“If you were a man, we would probably be married.” The longest romantic partnership I have ever had was less than two months. I am the single friend of everyone I know. I meet people while traveling, have short term love affairs until our limited time finally runs out. Half the people I am interested in are no good for me, and my friends watch my anxiety take a turn for the worst as I yet again fall for someone I should by all means steer clear of. A quarter are totally decent people, some of whom are even wonderful and amazing, but my anxiety finds a new reason to boil over the surface and ruin whatever chances of love I thought I had. The last quarter are people who I, unsuccessfully, attempt to force a relationship to work, in denial about our fundamental lack of compatibility, and consequentially become crestfallen each time things don’t work out in my favor.

My last relationship resulted in me breaking things off when I felt it getting serious. My mental health was worsening, despite the fact that the person I was dating had treated me the best out of literally anyone I had ever been with. I’ve taken time off from romance. Banned the dating apps from my phone. Done my best to rid myself of any and all sexual and romantic urges. I need time to figure out who I am, what I need to heal, what I want, and what I need. I can’t keep running after people and losing myself in the process. I need to be alone. 

Yet bicycle touring long-term with someone is like a marriage. You suffer together. Plan breakfast, lunch and dinner together. Negotiate the smallest of things such as speed, shared foods, who sleeps on which side of the tent, who cleans the pots and pans, who chooses the campground or hostel for the night. You suffer together, cry together, rely on each other because you have no one else to support you except the person right in front of or behind your two wheels. You experience each other’s company in ways that most friends and romantic patterns never will- the deep idiosyncrasies such as the pitch of someone’s sigh based on the terrain we would face that day or the way in which they fidget as they wait for their rice to cook on their jet boil. I may be a child of divorced parents and a 24 year old who has hardly maintained any type of long lasting romantic relationship, but bicycle touring with Jima was a marriage, and it taught me more about love than I realized I needed. 

“If you were a man we would probably be married.” Married, me? I didn’t know marriage was possible for someone like me. I didn’t know enduring love, a long-term romantic relationship was possible for someone like me. But Jima apparently thought so, despite the fact that I was overly curt for the first two weeks of our bicycle tour around New Zealand, doing my best, but often failing, to combat my impatience and irritation with empathy for Jima’s lack of touring experience. Jima thought I deserved to find someone who treats me well even when I push people away the more they tell me how much they love and respect me. Jima thought I could have a future where someone wants to love me forever, despite the one thousand things I can find horrifically wrong about myself. Jima thought that if I was a man, then maybe the two of us- the two chronically single friends- would be together forever.

I love bicycle touring because it is one of the rawest forms of adventure you can create for yourself. You never know what’s going to happen, the friendships and relationships you will make, the life-changing experiences the universe will bestow upon you. “If you were a man, we would probably be married” healed a part of me I didn’t know needed to be healed. I don’t know when I would have learned that I was capable of being loved- loved in the way of an enduring, romantic and legal sense- if it wasn’t for the two of us strangers blindly signing up for a group supported cross country bike ride over the summer of 2023. 

Jima’s words still ring in my mind, months after the conclusion of our bike tour across New Zealand.

Bicycle touring with Jima across New Zealand’s South Island has reminded me of the miraculousness of love.