A book that has never been out of print since 1679 and was for a long time the best selling book in the English language apart from the King James Bible and yet many people have today neither read it nor heard of it.

It is an allegorical story about a ‘pilgrim’ who has to make a long journey through difficulty, danger and temptation in order to reach the ‘shining city’ – the point of it being that entrance to heaven is not supposed to be easy and that you live your life as a journey towards it.

It is called ‘Pilgrim’s Progress’ by John Bunyan and it is a bit like the Illiad in the sense that you suspect the protagonist will never reach the end of the journey because so many disasters, catastrophes and cruel twists of fate seek to deny him.

In this book Heaven in the form of the shining city cannot be attained by passively just being ‘good’. Life has to be a hard journey, involve uncertainty of outcome, require much searching of the soul and contemplation of life choices and particularly involve the avoidance of easier paths that just lead downwards into sinfulness. Lust, avarice and gluttony being the main downfalls.

For anyone like me who avidly reads the blogs and writings of ultra cyclists who complete journeys of 1000km or more across challenging landscapes, it seems to be universally true that it must be hard to be worthwhile.

I dream of being able to do just a tiny 300km journey. The obstacle to that ambition is in more in my head than my legs but I understand the principle that anything worth having cannot come easily.

I come from a family of strict Baptists from the same part of the country as John Bunyan. Sundays were special days to be devoted to Church attendance, studying the Bible or reading good works like ‘Pilgrims Progress’. No alcohol, betting was forbidden, dressing and behaving modestly was an expectation, wasting time or money or hankering after possessions was discouraged. My mother would never accept cut flowers as a gift as she believed that they served their purpose better by living in the garden. No Christmas trees either for the same reason.

I rebelled from this as soon as I could but the imprint of your early years is always there no matter how hard you try to de -program yourself. This has left me with a feeling on every Sunday that I should be doing something worthwhile. For the last few years this has become a Sunday bike ride either with a club or, more often, alone. It is my church, my worship at the altar of the spinning spokes, the acceptance of the discipline of the road, the rejection of easier paths, the temptation me to stay in bed rather than go out in the cold and rain in order to climb a more challenging hill or go a bit further, a bit longer to go past the point where a ride is enjoyable and just becomes hard.

I was actually planning to ride with Truro Cycle Club today but they left at nine am and my eyes opened at 9.33am. I like riding with other cyclists for the company and safety but at the same time I find it stressful as I lack confidence in my own ability to keep up the pace. I am not a slow cyclist but nor am I fast. The thought of the other riders vanishing up the hill and then having to wait for me is incredibly debilitating and as I have only just joined this club, I spend the entire night beforehand worrying that I will come across as too slow, too old….not good enough.

I used to have imposter syndrome when I worked and now I can have it about having fun too. Even though I have a couple of nice bikes and all the right gear so I look like a ‘real cyclist’, in my heart I feel I am just pretending. An imposter pretending to be a cyclist.

So to be riding on my own this Sunday morning, to worship at the Church of the Road, was something of a relief. I could ride at my own pace and not worry about keeping up.

My ride today needed to be hard and involve hills as punishment…. because the pain will make me a better person. I will avoid the easier lanes, ignore the siren whisper of the quicker way home, reject the temptation of going more slowly. To be a good cyclist, a good pilgrim, I must embrace difficulty and pain in order to attain the reward.

It is good today to be alone with my thoughts about being a better person and a better cyclist, to worship at the church of the wheel, to sacrifice at the altar of the whirling spokes, guided by the unblinking eye of the Wahoo telling me speed, average pace and power output. I can try to discern what has made me want to go out in this bitter rain and on muddy December lanes today. What might be the reward for my efforts? What am I trying to achieve? The mind wanders happily as the hedgerows pass, the views open and close, the pedals keep turning.

Do I do this constant cycling in order that I might climb hills more easily? No. I will just go faster uphill and it will hurt just as much.

Is it to attain a state of grace where I don’t feel utterly fatigued after 150 kilometres? Possibly. But I will just want to go further.

To feel more content, more at ease, justifiably tired? My anxious nature and obsessional seeking of greater meaning in life precludes any of that.

I have only ridden a few 200km plus days so far in my brief cycling career and they hurt a lot. I sometimes state to my wife that if I could do a 300km ride I would be a happier and better person- although I suspect that I will just want to do 400km next.

I am aware of obsessionally accumulating distance as credits to be stored up against my own percieved mediocrity. I collect my kilometres in my Strava vault and like a miser I log on to see how many I have, how many metres of ascent…..and (whispers from the devil within me) how do I compare to others? Baptists will disapprove of this shallowness.

It is all a balm for my insecurities and inadequacies perhaps. Maybe thats why all of us find a church on a Sunday in whatever form that might take. I know that it helps, that it calms, that it provides a form of meaning and gives me a set of beliefs to navigate this life journey. We are all pilgrims on a journey to somewhere important to us and we use that pilgrimage to make sense of our lives.The difficult thing in life seems to be discerning exactly where the pilgrimage is taking us. And then making the journey.