Cyclopast

To discover, or rediscover, the story of Asahi Chang that we met a few years ago.

Memorable moment in the biggest collection I have ever seen.

Asahi Chang may own more vintage bikes than anyone alive The prolific collector has enough bikes to ride a different one every day for two years – not that he would.

There's something profoundly significant about certain stages of life. There are two that I can draw parallels with today, a parallel that has probably never been made before, that might seem far-fetched, but which, today, resonates with a very real present, my reality.

Getting on a Singer bicycle for the first time is a certainty: something magical, but also addictive, that invites you into a story and transforms your vision of cycling. Having always loved building my own bikes, with Singer, I understood that a bicycle is a complete entity, the interpretation of a request, transformed into a bicycle, into a coherent whole.

Entering a psychotherapist's office for the first time is the certainty of experiencing something transformative, but also addictive, of entering the depths of oneself and disrupting the patterns that have driven us until then. Having always believed I could solve everything on my own, the accumulation of sessions has made me realize that cycling is essential for my introspection, but that this introspection is meaningless if it isn't guided by a professional and enriched by new knowledge (philosophical, sociological, or political). The goal is to cultivate a more coherent and peaceful self.

The Singer bike that Sboard lent me soothes me. I descend the five flights of stairs to the street, hop on, and after a few pedal strokes, the magic happens. I glide over the landscape, like the surfer riding a wave in the film The Endless Summer (1966). A Singer bike offers a constant feeling of receiving something new with every cadence you set. A Singer bike is a certainty: the certainty of having a pleasant moment and rediscovering sensations from yesterday, the day before, or even a few years ago. It's an unchanging bicycle, untarnished by time. There's something similar in my therapy sessions: thirty minutes like a constant, questioning like a certainty. Sessions that time cannot tarnish.

These are currently the two new elements in my life, and they are also the ones transforming my daily routine. How could I do without them? The Singer surely resonates exactly at my frequency, precisely touching my sensitive chords, and today, how could I do without it? Just like these thirty-minute sessions that now keep my body balanced like a pile of gold coins.

The parallel may seem far-fetched, but it allows us to glimpse the depth of my relationship with cycling. It's not just a sport, just a passion; it's therapy, a point of equilibrium, a keystone of my sometimes dysfunctional structure. The Singer is a tool in this practice, and it is a tool of incredible finesse and regularity, which makes each moment of introspection an ever more gentle interlude.

There is nothing to add to these incredible shots!