A Girl and Her Bicycle

where am I? right where I want to be…

Warning: This blog is probably not going to entertain or interest the gentle reader in the least. It is merely the musings and introspections of an easily entertained girl and her bicycle. If you choose to continue to read, I thank you for your audience.

I got a bicycle for Mother’s Day. It’s a Schwinn Hybrid Road Bike. It has more gears than I will ever use, and when I took it on the maiden voyage, I felt strong, exhilarated, excited. And tall. I rode it around the community college parking lot to get a feel for the gears, the brakes, make sure the handlebars and seat were at comfortable positions and heights. I hadn't ridden a bike in nearly eight years and the last time I rode I was riding in the MS 150. I went alone because no one I knew was willing to peddle 150 miles.

On one part of the ride I was riding straight into the wind and it was blowing so hard for about 30 miles that if I stopped peddling my bike would stop. I finally got to turn East and that helped and then I hit the hills. 20 miles or so of straight up and straight down. You may be wondering to yourself if I had lost my mind and what in the world would make me think that was fun. I’m not sure I can answer that.

Once I passed the hills, I came to a two-lane road that on both sides was lined with sunflowers for as far as you could see. It was as though a path had been cut through the flowers. They were mature and in full bloom so they were at eye level and it was one of the most beautiful sites I had ever seen. They were fragrant and even though at this point the wind had died down, their bouquet lilted through air and settled on my senses. Occasionally, I would pass other riders and we would smile and wave, and cheer each other on. Sometimes I would ride with them for a while, but mostly I rode on enjoying the solitude.

As we passed through small towns with populations in the 100’s, the local police had the roads blocked so the riders could pass safely and the locals would be lined up along the streets. They would cheer and wave from their lawn chairs as we passed through, and yell things like “Thank You” and “Good Luck” and “Happy Riding”. I would smile and wave back and thank them as I passed and as I would leave each small town, I would wonder what it would be like to live there and how much a loaf of bread might cost at Casey’s Gas and Shop.

After a couple of blocks, I would be alone again. No more cheering onlookers. Just me alone with my thoughts and my bicycle. I cheated a bit on the first day. I only rode 80 of the 100 miles. I decided to choose between the wind and hills and since there’s not much one can do about wind, I decided to preserve myself and skip some of the hills. We had dinner and camped at the state fair grounds. Some people stayed in the local motel, some slept in the gym-like building on the grounds. And most brought tents. I didn’t have a tent so I took a bedroll and slept under the stars that night. I was out in the middle of the grounds surrounded by a sea of tents. They reminded me of the balloon festival with all the bright colors and odd shapes. Small, dim lights glowed from within and looked like large lightening bugs. It was quite a scene. I wasn’t the only one sleeping outside though. It was clear and cool and people started coming out of their tents with their sleeping bags and pillows to join others who chose continue their outdoor sojourn.

The next morning, after breakfast, I took off for the last 50 miles. About an hour into the ride, it got cold and started to rain and I was glad for the wide tires on my bike. I rode alone again, that day. We finished our ride at the local high school. As I approached the school, I could see people. Lots of them. They were cheering and clapping and it took me a minute to come out of my solitary reverie and realize that they were cheering for me. Not just me, you understand. All of the riders, but at that moment, they were cheering for me. As I turned into the parking lot, some woman I had never seen before ran up to me. I stopped and she put a medal on a red, white and blue ribbon around my neck, hugged me and thanked me. I hugged her back and thanked her too. As I got off my bike, I started to cry. I doubt anyone could tell because it was raining to beat the band but salty tears were running down my cheeks in time with the rain. I was soaked through and through, I was freezing, I was hungry and I was sad that my ride was over. But that’s not why I was crying. The tears were a manifestation of my gratitude. For the first time in my life, I was proud of myself. I had just done something that only a couple of years before, I would not have believed in myself nor had the courage enough to try. In spite of those who told me I couldn’t or perhaps just to prove them wrong, I did it anyway. Sometimes being passive/aggressive can be a good thing.

I used to be afraid of my own shadow. I avoided confrontation at all costs and I believed everything I was told by those I should have been able to trust. But with each small success we get a bit stronger; a bit more courageous. I’m a different person now. I am not bound by fear, lack of confidence, weakness. I am not influenced by the weak minded who try to hold me back. I am not held captive to the limitations or confines of those who don’t believe in me. As a result, I have different people in my life and my world is very different. And much better.

And it all started with a girl and her bicycle. Ride on…