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Writer's pictureDan Richards

The Unyielding Ride: A Cyclist's Chronicle of Life Beyond the Road

You could say I was forged in adversity and tempered by will—flesh and bone with a titanium spirit. My name’s Dan, and I’m not your average Joe—or your average cyclist, for that matter. I live in a world where excuses are dirt under my wheels and the only way forward is to ride, hard.



Cycling, to me, is therapy at 20 mph. It’s the wind against my face, a cadence that beats like my heart—steady, enduring. It’s not a cure-all; it’s better. It's the fuel I burn to light up the darker corners of my world. It’s where I find the solidarity and equality that life owes but often forgets to pay. Out there, on the road, we're all the same: just riders with a love for the freedom found in a stretch of tarmac. The barriers? They've been as real as the road under my tires.


Back in 2016, I was training for the Invictus Games, with pockets as empty as a politician's promises. Financially, I was hanging by a thread, the kind that’s been frayed, chewed on, and tied back together. My turbo trainer was a £5 steal, and Zwift was a luxury I could only dream of. But I didn't have time for a sob story—I had a bike, and I had a goal.

Every pedal stroke was a ‘fuck you’ to self-pity. I had YouTube, Google, and my own stubbornness. Richmond Park wasn't just a park; it was my proving ground. And guess where that scrappiness got me? Sydney, 2018, with the Invictus Games crowd roaring.


Why spill my guts, you might ask? Stories have power—the kind that lights fires in bellies and kicks in doors to new paths. I’m not here to play the martyr or sing sob songs about being ‘marginalised.’ Disability? Sure, I’m an amputee, but that’s just a minor detail, not the headline. I’ve learned life can be a real prick, but I’d rather be the one flipping the bird than waiting for handouts. If my story gives someone the map to bypass the bullshit (and there’s plenty of it), then let’s get cartographing. I’d like to think I'm proof (one of many) that there is more than one way to skin a cat, and if the cat's too big, well, I'll build a bigger knife.


Now, the memories—the snapshots of life on two wheels that stick like mud on a mountain bike. Verdun, France, that's where

Photo by Beau Markson

it all sparked. A thought, or rather a whisper of an idea that grew into a relentless, consuming fire. Those two years of graft, of reshaping my life and habits, were the kindling. But nothing, and I mean nothing, beats the moment I crossed the starting line at the Invictus Games. It was the ‘Holy shit, I did it’ moment, the pinnacle of 'Dan vs. The World'—and Dan fucking won.


Then there's the 'Glass Elevator', that descent in the Race Across America (RAAM) 2022, a drop so sharp it could cut the bullshit out of any excuse. Kansas’ winds were a beast, but we tamed it, mile by gruelling mile. DNF? That's just an acronym. It doesn’t capture the sweat, the laughter, the tears, and the sheer grit it took to ride across [most of] the States. Finishing in Maryland wasn't just crossing a line; it was setting a benchmark for life – You will get out what you put in!



Photo by Black Sheep Cycling


You want the real talk, the internal monologue that keeps me trucking when my body’s complaining, ‘No more!’? Here it is: ‘Dan, you’ve got one hand on the bars, but you’re steering better than most. Get the fuck over that hill, because nobody else will pedal for you. You’re not just riding a bike, you're outriding every damn shadow that dared to loom over you.’


That’s me, raw and unfiltered. I’m not in the business of half-measures or ‘could’ve beens.’ This story isn’t polished or pretty—it’s sweat-stained and splattered with road grit. It’s a testament to the grind, to the sheer audacity of believing that a man with one hand can ride bikes better than most with two.




Life’s thrown curveballs that would've struck out lesser men. But here I am, swinging for the fences, living proof that the only thing unfair in this world is wasting time bitching about the pitch instead of hitting the fucking ball, Did you miss the swing? Well, fucking pick it up and throw the fucker back!


So, there’s my story. A thousand words of trials and triumphs, of cycling through hell and coming out with a grin. The road ahead? It’s just more miles to conquer, more stories to write, and more lives to change—including my own.


Keep riding. Keep fighting. Keep fucking winning.

Until the next ride, stay tuned!


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