MONDAYS is back after a short break. I’d love to dive straight into a bike introduction, but today I’ve decided to take a slightly different approach. Mr. Funahashi has acquired a SEVEN CYCLES Mudhoney SL—his second bike from the brand—with the primary goal of enjoying dirt rides and cyclocross races. I decided to toss the ball to him.
Why did he choose Seven for his second bike? It was their unique fitting methodology that led him there, but at its core was the question he poses to himself in this piece.
I hope you enjoy reading it.
What are you receiving from your bicycle?
Text By Yuta Funahashi
Have you had any memorable experiences lately?
If asked that, how would you answer? "Well, not really anything lately. But when I was in kindergarten, for some reason I was walking with my head up and fell into a drainage ditch, bleeding profusely... My mother took me to the hospital in a taxi, but for some reason, I can still vividly recall the color of the sky and the shape of the clouds at the exact moment I fell."
That might be how I’d answer.
Of course, you’d probably just look at me blankly. It seems I can’t write or think through things without a "question." So, I often throw these bizarre questions to myself—much like trying to catch a ball thrown toward the sky while the sun constantly blinds me.
But the question I really need to ask myself here is something else entirely. What are you receiving from your bicycle? If asked that, how would you answer?
Like those of you reading this, I find great significance in the existence of the bicycle, which is precisely why this simple question is so difficult to answer. Still, I’d like to give it some thought in my own way.
For instance, when I return from work and stand frozen in my entryway, just staring at the chainstay of the bike parked there. When I finally reach a viewpoint I was promised was "just a little further" while struggling up a steep mountain pass. During a ride on a cold day, when the steam rising from a bowl at the udon shop I stopped at stings my eyes. On the way home from a hard ride, enveloped by the wind and bathed in the sunset alongside my friends.
In those moments, a unique sensation stirs within us. They possess their own distinct colors, scents, sounds, and levels of light. I believe what I get from my bicycle is the ability to grasp the voices of those shapeless, meaningless things. I think the bicycle is not just a device for moving the body, but also an assistive device for perception. That is why it is the ultimate tool for fun. That is how I see it.
Because it is a transport device and an aid to perception, a bicycle needs to be optimized for each of us in various ways. It shouldn't just be about size, flexibility, or weight; it should fit your body and your heart in terms of whether it truly captivates you and whether it can accompany you in the time to come. That’s what I think. That’s why I chose the bike I have.
To be honest, it doesn’t necessarily have to be a light, fast bike, and there is no reason at all for everyone to buy a bike that costs as much as a car. I believe that an object’s value is defined by its relationship with its owner. Even so, when you convey to a builder exactly what kind of places you want to visit and what you want to feel with your own body and bike, and after the right amount of time and meticulous work, that custom-made, accurately embodied machine will undoubtedly become an extension of your own limbs, sharpening your skin’s senses and lending you the strength to grasp the voices of things you wouldn't otherwise hear.
I didn’t arrive at Seven Cycles the moment I started riding sports bikes. There was the aluminum Anchor I bought with my first bonus after joining the company. Then the feather-light Cannondale I got once I started racing. I was equally drawn to each of them and met various people and places through them. It was only after that time and those experiences that I am on this bike now.
After a morning ride and a lethargic time spent in my room, in the early evening when the wind has softened, I head to the supermarket on a bike equipped with a front bag to buy groceries. It’s a bit tricky to pedal in sandals, but if I push with the balls of my feet, it moves efficiently. In fact, that slight lack of efficiency makes me pay more attention to the shifting scenery unfolding around me. I buy natto at the supermarket. If it’s hot, I might buy an Azuki Bar, too.
On the way back, the rice ears in the paddies that survived the typhoon are still swaying elegantly, starting to be dyed gold by the setting sun. In that moment, the world belongs to me alone. This is good. I close my eyes for a moment again. I breathe in the scent of the wind and the rice ears one more time. I thought I heard the sound of a train from far away. My bicycle has carried my body and all my senses to a place other than here again today.
