So, I ask you to imagine a parallel universe where everyone rides bicycles to get around. The cities are clean. The air smells like trees, fresh bread, and optimism. People get to work while getting fitter, avoiding traffic jams and saving money in one glorious multitasking manoeuvre. The world runs on quads and calves.
And then, one day, a rogue engineer named Chad rolls into town with… a car.
“Wait,” you say. “What’s that enormous, metal sofa you’re sitting in, Chad?”
“Oh, this? It’s a car. It’s amazing. You just sit there, and it moves you around.”
“Like… a bus?”
“No, no — much less efficient than that. This only moves one or two people at a time, usually just me, sometimes my dog.”
“Well,” says Chad, unlocking his enormous rolling box, “you pour in a smelly, highly flammable liquid that comes from deep underground—sometimes under oceans, sometimes under war zones. Then you set fire to it, thousands of times per minute, just inches from your feet.”
“Um... Go on.”
“This fire powers dozens of metal parts to whir around at high speeds. You’ll need an entire network of pipes, filters, radiators, pistons, belts, lubricants, and a monthly prayer to keep it from falling apart.”
“So it’s like a bike, but... heavier, louder, more complicated, smells worse, needs a mechanic and quietly drains thousands from your savings every year?”
“Exactly. But the real magic? You can spend a fifth of your income covering all the costs of using it!”
“Well, the engine turns about 20% of the fuel’s energy into movement. The other 80% becomes heat, noise, and pollution.”
“Wait, wait — our bikes are powered by croissants and turn almost all of it into motion, plus cardio.”
“Yeah, but with cars you get cupholders.”
“OK sure, each one of these belches out invisible chemicals that slowly roast the planet. But we can build tens of thousands of miles of smooth black tarmac to make it look cool. Oh, and we’ll remove trees to do it.”
“About 100 bikes. Plus insurance, taxes, fuel, and repairs. But if you’re lucky, you can spend a whole hour a day sitting in traffic inside one.”
“Oh, easy. Just clear out sidewalks, gardens, parks, and half the city. Then fight your neighbors for the remaining space.”
“Did I mention you'll no longer need to move your body at all to get around? You just sit there. We’ll make gyms to compensate.”
“Oh yeah,” says Chad, nodding seriously. “Sometimes it rains. Sometimes it’s cold. You wouldn’t want to feel... weather, would you?”
“Feel weather?”
“Yeah, you know—wind on your cheeks, raindrops on your nose, sun on your back. It’s all very primitive. Much better to sit in a temperature-controlled metal box, sealed off from the natural world."
“Right... but isn’t it kind of amazing to feel alive? To push your body through a challenge? I mean, our ancestors walked barefoot across savannas and hunted mammoths in the snow with sticks.”
“And now we drive three blocks to get milk in an SUV.”
See, modern science says what ancient wisdom already knew: doing hard things—like going outside when it’s a bit nippy—is good for you. It releases endorphins, sharpens the mind, and reminds you that you’re not just a sentient lump designed to chase dopamine on a couch. You're a creature of the Earth! You’re built to thrive in the elements, not hide from them.
“Well… if you don’t mind climate change, noise, congestion, obesity, financial stress, geopolitical instability, and early mortality… it’s incredibly convenient!”
“Hmm. Think I’ll stick with my bike.”