“I Used to Ride” —Words We Wish to Never Say

There’s something about the way people say, “I used to ride.” It’s never just a sentence; it’s more like a memory, a version of themselves they haven’t visited in a while. You can hear it in their voice the pride, the softness, sometimes even the ache. This isn’t for the riders who physically can’t ride anymore due to injury, illness, or something life-altering. That journey carries its own weight and deserves its own space. This is for the ones who slowly stepped away. The ones who had kids and quietly decided it was time to “grow up.” The ones whose spouse worried and maybe worried enough that it became a rule. The ones who sold their bike thinking it was temporary, and then life just kept moving. The ones who had a close call that rattled them deeper than they expected.

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The ones who could ride… but don’t.

Somewhere along the way, riding stopped being a lifestyle and became a story you tell. You remember the way the throttle felt and the way the world narrowed down to the road ahead. The silence inside your helmet that somehow made everything else clearer. Riding wasn’t reckless, it wasn’t selfish, it was grounding. It was yours and then life got louder. Responsibilities, family and fear are not your enemies. They’re real, but sometimes in protecting everything else, you quietly set aside a part of yourself. You tell yourself you don’t miss it or you say you’ll come back to it. But when a bike passes you on the highway and you turn your head just a little too long, that feeling that’s not gone.

Sometimes it wasn’t even responsibility. Sometimes it was fear.

A near accident, a friend who went down, or a moment that shook your confidence in a way you didn’t expect. Fear has a voice that sounds responsible, logical even protective, and sometimes stepping back is exactly what you need. Fear also grows when it goes unchallenged. What started as “just for a while” can quietly become “I guess I’m done.” You’re not weak for being scared you’re human and you’re not foolish for missing it either.

There are people and organizations doing real work to support riders who’ve been through trauma and want to find their way back. The Ride Again Foundation exists to help survivors heal, rebuild, and thrive after accidents. They remind us that setbacks don’t have to define the rest of the story. Community matters. Support matters. Healing is possible.

But this blog isn’t here to pressure you.

It’s permission. Permission to admit you miss it. Permission to want that part of yourself back. Permission to be a parent, a spouse, a responsible adult… and still be a rider.

Your identity doesn’t have to shrink to fit your responsibilities; it can evolve. Maybe coming back doesn’t look like it did before, maybe you ride differently, or train more or invest in better gear or start slower. You don’t have to go back to who you were, but you also don’t have to stay the person who says, “I used to.”

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At Chic Riot, we believe riding is more than just a thing we do, it’s a way of life, its clarity, it’s remembering yourself. So, if you’ve been saying “I used to ride,” maybe the road isn’t asking you to be fearless, maybe it’s just asking you to begin again.