Ninety Solo Miles in the Night

A case study in personal values

It’s been ten years since I’ve been in a McDonald’s, but in the cold, pre-dawn of a September morning the Golden Arches were a welcoming sight.

While peeling damp gloves from my cold hands, I ordered two sausage McMuffins, hash browns, orange juice, and a large coffee that I refilled twice.

Months ago I committed to a volunteer shift setting up and running a booth for Washington Bikes at the Blazing Saddles 100 mile bike ride and chili cook off in Colville.

I kept my commitment despite it becoming inconvenient. Integrity has more weight than other personal values.

Jenny was away for the weekend with the car. Colville is ninety miles from home. So I went to bed at eight-thirty with the alarm set for eleven-forty-five. My cycling clothes were laid out on her side of the bed and my messenger bag was packed with the essentials I needed for the ride and a fresh set of clothes.

After three hours of sleep, fifteen minutes before the alarm, my ringing phone woke me. Daughter-in-law, Katie called pleading with me to change my mind. Highway 395 is notoriously dangerous. I used to see people sporting “I survived 395 t-shirts.” Katie was concerned. When I didn’t budge she put my son, Jason, on.

“I’ve considered the risk,” I told him. “395 is dangerous in bad wether and with high traffic. It’s a weekend and I’ll be riding it in the early morning hours. The weather is clear. There’s a wide clear shoulder. And I’ll be lit up like a Christmas tree.”

He sighed deeply and said, “Well, okay. But you don’t have to do this.”

Of course I didn’t. I’m stubborn. When I decide to do something I generally get it done.

My family often mistakes my values of adventure and solitude for self-reliance.

True, my initial motivation was independence. I don’t like accepting help from others. It comes with a sense of debt—a weight I feel constantly until I’ve overpaid in return.

But I am willing to accept assistance when I need it. Sometimes it is an expression of love that shouldn’t be rejected without careful consideration and explanation.

In this case, my sense of adventure and self fulfillment was guiding me. The ride to Colville became a personal challenge. The fact that others considered it in awe, fear, and surprise affirmed its worth.

The extra fifteen minutes gave me time to shower and shave—pointless before embarking on a ride where I would sweat for hours, but it felt good to start fresh.

At 12:01 AM, I rolled out the door to start one of the most amazing journeys in my memory.

I love riding in the dark. Solitude is another of my personal values. A nighttime bike ride heightens the sense of solitude.

I hear things I never hear in the day: the river slapping at the shore, the creaking of a billboard rotating through its ads, scampering animals, wind through unseen trees. There are smells I don’t notice in the day. They change as abruptly as the scene would in daylight.

And the night sky! Living in town, we see only a few of the brightest stars. Light pollution and haze mask its beauty. Miles from any light source except my dim bike light, the night has thousands more stars occasionally streaked by meteors.

I stopped just twice on the way. First at a Shari’s restaurant to refill my water bottles before leaving the last of the 24-hour businesses. I was on my own after that with just forty ounces of the precious stuff.

My second stop turned out to be the top of a fast, long decent in to Chewelah. “Wow! Look it this! Just look at this!” I exclaimed out loud. The sky behind me was even more bejeweled. And the thinnest sliver of crescent moon had just risen over a ridge to the east, softened by fog rising from the forest. I marveled at the scene while I chewed a Luna bar to fuel the rest of my ride.

Cold, weary, and sore from hours on the bike, the final miles stretched out longer than those at the start. When Colville came into view, the Golden Arches shouted “Welcome!”

Hours of riding through the night left everything except my core chilled. There’s an equilibrium achieved while pedaling keeping hypothermia at bay. Once stopped, the cold soaks in. Consuming a meal right away adds fresh calories, which is helpful, but it also redirects blood flow to the digestive system letting the cold sink deeper. Before long I was shivering so hard the coffee in my cup sloshed over the rim.

When the shivering settled, I got back on the bike and pedaled slowly through town letting my muscles warm me from the inside. I had to wait for the sunrise before I warmed up completely.

The day was spent distributing maps and material for Washington Bikes, a non-profit, state-wide organization advocating for cyclists and pedestrians. I was joined by staff and another board member after they completed various distance routes at the event.

In the early afternoon, I changed back into my cycling gear and headed home.

The contrast was striking. During the night, I had long periods of quiet solitude. From just north of Spokane to Chewelah, less than ten vehicles passed me. The return trip was filled with a cacophony of motorized vehicles passing in both directions. The few places where the shoulder narrowed significantly were unnerving.

Somewhere north of Loon Lake, on a long gentle climb, a car pulled off ahead of me. When I approached the driver walked out to intercept me. He was an older gentleman—I’m guessing in his seventies—wearing a plain white shirt, three pens, pencils, or markers in his pocket, and tan dress slacks. He didn’t look threatening, but a motorist intercepting me usually means an unfriendly confrontation.

“I commend you for what you’re doing,” he said. “But I stopped to tell you I just couldn’t see you. You blend into the shadows along the side of the road.”

I’m glad you stayed on the roadway and off the shoulder, I thought. I thanked him, made sure my three flashing lights were on. I normally don’t use them for daytime riding, but visibility is key to cycling safely.

We had a brief chat. He asked where I’d come from and where I was going. “What do you do in real life?” he asked; he is an ER physician, “Which,” he added, “is probably why I’m so concerned.”

Real-life? I thought, Life doesn’t get any more real than this.

When I reached Deer Park, I locked the bike to a pole and sat down to an ice cold milkshake. I called Jason. Katie was visiting her parents, a short ten minute drive from Deer Park. She arrived to pick me up just as I finished my shake.

I could have finished the ride, but I would have suffered. My feet, hands, and shoulders were fatigued requiring stops every few miles. Increasing daytime traffic as I approached Spokane made the ride less pleasant.

Katie and Jason were concerned and accepting their help let them know I love and appreciate them.

I had achieved my goals: completing a midnight ride to Colville to meet my commitment to volunteer, setting a personal record for the most miles bicycled in a single day—140, and enjoying a new adventure, plenty of solitude, and satisfying my own sense of independence.

Jason joined us at his in-laws and drove me home. I fed the dogs, showered, had a cold beer while I fixed myself a taco dinner, then fell into bed. I slept like someone flipped my power switch off—lights out, no dreams, no restlessness, just silent, deep sleep. I awoke just before 6 AM, like the power switch had been flipped back on, refreshed, but with a sense that no time had passed. Nine hours of sleep were soaked up in an instant.

As I reached to open the refrigerator, I noticed the envelope I’d attached to the door with a magnet.

Although, I’d assessed the risk and determined it was more than acceptable, I left a note in case I was wrong. Or in case the unthinkable happened. Cycling, like many things in life, is inherently dangerous. If the only vehicle I encountered in the entire ride was a drunk driving on the shoulder, it would have ended badly.

So, just before rolling out the door Saturday morning, I wrote a quick note to Jenny letting her know I was making the ride, not because I had to, not because she’d taken the car, not because I couldn’t borrow a vehicle or get a ride—family and friends had pleaded with me to take theirs or offered rides. I’d done it to fulfill my own need for adventure, independence, and solitude. If anything happens to me, I told her, just know I was doing what I love, and I love you. I hadn’t told her about the ride in advance. She would worry unnecessarily. She deserved to enjoy her visit with the kids without added worry.

Leaving her the note, and patiently explaining to Jason and Katie why the ride was important to me were acts honoring a relationship value.

I work for Moz, where were one of the many great benefits we enjoy is life coaching. My coach, Meara, is wonderful. Recently, we did an exercise, to identify my personal values. It gave me a lot of clarity around the decisions I make, helps me explain them to others, and guides me when my own values are in conflict. It is one of the best results I’ve achieved through coaching. My decision to ride to Colville is a good case study of those values in practice.

Identify your own personal values to add clarity to your life.

If you have a life coach, ask for assistance identifying your personal values. If not, there are plenty of resources online to help, like this “What are your values?” article and video.