By Heidi Swift

I love coffee. Every morning from 4:30-4:45am (yes, I get regularly get up this early) it is my sun and my moon and my dark sparkling everything. Because my boyfriend delivers it to me in bed (yes, I’m spoiled), it is the first thing I encounter upon waking. I hold it and cradle it and savor it. Then I get out of bed – and everything is ok.

I love coffee with the fanaticism of a girl raised in Seattle, transplanted to Portland and adopted by Italian in-laws: I love it in the moka pot, I love it in the French press, I love it in the Chemex, I love it from the drip machine and I love it from an espresso machine. I even occasionally love it from an aero-press. I love it I love it I love it.

For that reason, it was with some hesitation that I wrote the headline above. Better than coffee? Is it possible to love anything more than coffee? There are days when I question what I would do if forced to choose between the coffee-delivering boyfriend and coffee itself. (I want the coffee, but without the boyfriend how will I endure the agony of having to deliver it to myself every morning?) It seemed like blasphemy even to suggest that something might usurp coffee as Grand Ruler of my Morning Universe, but on a brisk jaunt up Fairview Avenue one day, I realized it was happening: I felt better than I did when I’d sipped my magic morning brew. I was more awake. More lively. More motivated. Warmer, even.

A few days later my friend Josh invited me to coffee to catch up. I imagined us huddled behind the foggy window of Division Street Stumptown, chatting. I imagined the delicious crema on top of my Americano and the pretty baristas and the warm heater. Then I said, “Why don’t we commute together instead?” and I almost couldn’t believe what had come out of my mouth.

The next day we met early and pedaled through downtown, up to the zoo. We talked about string theory and home remodeling and advanced techniques for catching and punishing evil spammers (Josh is a fat-brain software engineer). We talked about cameras and film and bacon-wrapped dates and bourbon. We hardly even noticed as we stood up to push against the rising grade. We did not miss the baristas. We did not miss the warm heater.

At the top of the climb we embraced and then rode in opposite directions, shooting down hills en route to work stations. When I arrived, I sent him a note that said, “The rest of my ride was SO COLD!” He replied, “Me too! Freezing! Let’s do it again tomorrow!”

Don’t get me wrong: I still love me some coffee. And, if forced to decide, I probably wouldn’t trade my pre-dawn coffee delivery (or the man behind it) for all the bike commutes in the world. But there’s something to the Zing! of starting the day with a little purposeful pedaling. A double shot of self-propulsion to fire things up.

Like the rituals we develop around coffee, a daily commute provides pause for reflection, a setting for social connections and a moment to savor something simple and satisfying before we charge off into the chaos of the day. Drink up.

Heidi Swift is a freelance writer and photographer based in Portland, Oregon where she lives with two mean cats and one rad Sicilian man. In addition to being cyclocrossobsessed, she enjoys good whiskey, romantic rain rides, and frequent international cycling escapades. Despite most often trending toward “tomboy” she has a penchant for very red nail polish, large scarves and obnoxious designer sunglasses. She’s a regular contributor to Peloton Magazine, Editor-at-Large for Switchback Magazine, and cycling columnist for the Oregonian Newspaper. Her work has also appeared in ROAD Magazine, Bicycling, Cyclocross Magazine, Wend Magazine,VeloNews and CyclingNews.com. You can follow her misadventures atGritandGlimmer.com or catch her on the tweets: @heidiswift.

Look for another “Lightlife” piece from Heidi Swift next week!