"Cross-Korea Half-Ride Squad".

Every time I see the name of that KakaoTalk group chat, I'm reminded of last year's Chuseok. Back then, I coordinated schedules with two friends and put into action a plan to ride from Incheon to Chungju over the three-day holiday. The route simply followed the national cross-country bicycle path south, and we called it a "half-ride" rather than a full traverse because we planned to cover only about half. The 633㎞ from the Ara West Sea Lock in Incheon to Busan is commonly called the cross-country ride. Taking our lack of experience (that is, stamina) into account, we set Chungju as our goal.

In October last year, we set off on an adventure along the cross-country bicycle route from Incheon to Chungju.

We took the Airport Railroad to the starting point, the Ara West Sea Lock certification center. Maybe because it was a holiday, there were plenty of riders, and small groups of foreigners stood out. Having no sense of how hard it would be or how far we had to go, our squad filled our tanks with gukbap, then repeated riding and resting, collecting stamps one by one in the cross-country certification booklet.

We were such amateurs that we sourced gloves, a rack, and an extra saddle cushion on the spot (from that very place known for $0.75 (1,000 KRW) happiness) and kept riding. It wasn't just our mindset that was unprepared. On day one, after entering the Han River bike path in Seoul from Incheon and passing around Gwangjin-gu, I was hit with the worst muscle pain of my life, so we took a short break for an intense massage. That evening at our lodging, I tried every stretch, acupressure, and pain-relief patch I could, but nothing worked, and I despaired, "So my adventure ends here."

Cross-country bicycle route. Screenshot from the Ministry of the Interior and Safety's Bike Happiness Sharing website

The next day, as if by a miracle, my body felt light again (there's really no other way to describe it), and I got back in the saddle. Once the pain eased, the scenery came into view. Most of the route follows waterways rather than forest trails, offering wide-open vistas to take in. The bike path was in better shape than expected. I didn't hesitate to dismount and push on the climbs, and I enjoyed the descents with care. Thanks to helmets that let us communicate via Bluetooth, I chatted with my friends as we pedaled.

As the rain intensified, we had to stop in Yeoju, but the experience fully compensated for all the months I wavered over whether to buy a bike. When I occasionally used shared bicycles, I disliked the inconsistent condition of the brakes and tires. Even so, it took me months to make a purchase, because I wondered how much I would really ride once I had one. Excluding the monsoon season and heat waves, and avoiding the midwinter days of snow and icy roads, I figured you can probably ride in Korea about two-thirds of the year. But after riding my own bike along the most beautiful roads in the best season, I felt I'd "gotten my money's worth." Now this bicycle has become my comrade and fellow soldier.

Our squad's bicycles at rest

The secret nickname I gave my bike is "Red Hare." I'm neither Lu Bu nor Guan Yu, and even if it's only a name I use in my head, I did wonder whether it was right to call my not-even-red bike Red Hare. At an average speed of 15~17㎞/h, can I really... Still, I didn't want to give up the name of one of history's most celebrated steeds. I decided on the concept of freeing a general's soul trapped in a bookish body and resolved to ride hard. My passion, at least, is crimson.

These days, asleep or awake, I dream of world peace. It's still an unfulfilled romantic wish to fly with Red Hare on a plane and ride there. If I slowly savor the romance of a foreign place by choosing a bicycle over trains, buses, or trams, letting two legs and two wheels carry me, the afterglow will linger all the more. I can feed cats along the way, too... In my excitement, I even impulsively bought a dedicated travel case.

Originally, my plan was to build mileage diligently in Korea this year and head to Dubai next winter. Dubai has a dedicated cycling track running through the desert that's 86㎞ long. A dedicated bike track, which is hard to find in Korea, and in the desert, no less. I kept picturing the sunrises and sunsets I'd see there.

That hope was dashed at the end of February when Dubai suffered the fallout of the US-Iran war. I don't know what things will look like next year, but for the time being, travel to the Middle East seems difficult, not only because of soaring fuel surcharges but also due to safety costs. Compared with matters of life and death, travel worries are a luxury. I add my small wish as a mere traveler that one day young people in conflict zones around the world will be able to enjoy cycling in safety.

This year, a slump in my condition delayed the start of my season. I don't mind. The road is always there, and all I have to do is set out with Red Hare.

Metamong

An INTP who dislikes people but is full of love for humanity