The iridium nib

When I went back China as a teen, I was (as I am now) so crudely materialistic. On a whim, I asked if I could get a fancy fountain pen. One of my mom's college classmates secured one for me and extolled the pen's iridium nib. Iridium is a very rare element on earth; the bulk of it is dropped off by metallic meteorites. It's chosen for its durability and resistance to corrosion. I thought that by having a nice fountain pen, I would be able to write a lot and become a better writer. But I used the pen once or twice. It was certainly not my entree into the world of writing. In reality, any talent I've gained as a writer have been earned through sheer mechanical output. 

A bike tour doesn't begin and end with the bike. You need a bike*, certainly, but having one doesn't make you a bicycle tourist. To become a better writer, you have to pick up the pen (any pen at first, really) and write write write write, no matter what else is going on, no matter how you feel, with no regard to how much or little you're putting out. 

To be a bike tourist, you have to get on the bike day after day, grinding down the miles to your destination. It's not about the bike; it's about the number of times you crank the pedals. About whether you will keep going when you're alternately drenched by rain and your own sweat, when you have to pedal downhill against the wind, when end of the day is some unknown point beyond the horizon. 

*I won't mince words -- it's a privilege to have the money and time to go on a multi week bike tour. Inflating my own ego about what I'm capable of is fine, but I know that this was still all just a paid vacation for my own amusement.