Adam and Aislynn and I had a wonderful afternoon with Mark and Doris out at the Fox Farm today. Doris fixed a delicious vegetarian meal. We sat and talked for a long time and then took a walk around their property with their seven huge sled dogs and our little 7 pound Charlie dog. We sat and enjoyed the fresh air some more, and I talked about starting my ride for the day. I was concerned about the wind picking up, and Mark wisely suggested I have Adam drive me up country so I could ride all the way back with a nice tail wind. It turned out to be a great idea.
Of course, as Adam dropped me off, I wasn't so sure. It was a loooooong ride out, and I was so tired I was dozing in the car on the way. Then, when we reached the drop off point, I realized I didn't have a windbreaker or even a hoodie with me. All I had was my little button down baby blue sweater -- that's right, my granny cardigan. I cavalierly tossed it in the back seat, only to sheepishly pull it out again and put it on when I stepped out into the westerly winds. Even a granny sweater, I decided, was better than bare arms. I also found I forgot my expensive, polarized cycling sunglasses. Adam kindly offered me his.
"Honey," he said, as he took my bike off the car rack, "you're crazy."
Instantly I felt a little alarmed. "Why?" I asked.
"Because. The sun is going down, this road is very curvy, and there is NO shoulder for the entire way."
I shrugged, even though I was scared. It was 6:09. I told Adam I'd have sunlight for at least two hours and it would be okay. I got on the bike, and as I started out, Aislynn shouted from the car window, "Bye Mommy! Don't get flattened!!" Nice. They passed me and were gone.
Well, the good thing about cycling is... it's a great activity for quitters. Especially in Wyoming. I mean, you're 12 miles outside of town. There's virtually no cell service, no stores, no gas stations, no restaurants. What're you going to do other than grit your teeth, accept the reality of the situation and keep moving forward? (When I was training for the sprint triathlon two years ago, I remember I was expressing all my doubts and worries to my friend and coach, Fred. What if my ankles can't handle it? What if I get too tired? What if I can't do the 3.1 mile run? What if, what if, what if? Fred said, "Just keep putting one foot in front of the other. One step at a time." It worked then, and it's still great advice now. Just keep moving forward.)
And then an incredible thing happened. I started riding, felt the tail wind, looked around me at the beautiful landscape and realized I was thoroughly enjoying the ride. A few miles later I came riding around a bend and there, parked in a public access area, was my dear husband and sweet daughter. As I rode past them, Adam yelled, "You're a rock star!!!" Aislynn was waving wildly from the passenger seat. I had the hugest smile on my face. It really was going to be okay. I am so blessed to have the support system I have -- my family, my friends. Everyone has been so inspiring.
Once again they passed me and drove away. As I watched, they ascended up a huge hill. Huge. That I was moving toward. And had to go up. Oh my word. "Come BACK," I silently screamed as they disappeared over the top. One step at a time. I gritted my teeth and got to it. Down to the granny gear that matched my granny sweater.
But I made it over. And over the next one. And the next one. Up hills and down hills. And you know, rolling hills are a great antidote to a fear of speed. When you're riding down a hill that is followed by a steep climb, speed is not only your friend but your much needed ally in the challenge ahead. Everything really is relative.
I was in high spirits. One minute I was riding along singing, "Moving long the highway, moving along the highway, moving along so life won't pass me by", and the next, inexplicably and perhaps inevitably, I was singing, "You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have, the facts of life! The facts of life!" (Yeah, no idea where that came from, but I suspect it might have been the granny sweater.)
Almost before I knew it, I was facing the final big climb leading back into town. It was the first time I had ever attempted it, and I had some serious doubts as to whether I could get up it or would have to get off and walk my bike. As I approached, I noticed a large group of cows to the left of the road near the top of the hill. It seemed they were regarding me, and rather skeptically at that.
They are watching me, I thought. They are going to know whether or not I make it. "Okay, cows," I yelled. "I am going to climb this hill ON MY BIKE." I shifted, down, down, down back to granny gear. My thighs were burning. "Cows!" I yelled, "I am GOING to make it up this hill." (They looked on with boredom.) I rode further -- was about half way at this point. I pedaled and pedaled, sucking wind like O2 was leaving Earth forever. "Cows!" I gasped, "I AM doing it!!!" Ha ha. Haaaa. Ha!
And then.... I could see the top of the hill. And then I was ON the top of the hill. And then I was OVER it. I looked to the left in triumph and thought, "Oh. Wait. Those are actually llamas, not cows." (True. Dumb city girl. Apparently prescription sunglasses are a must-purchase before September. Along the same vein, soon after I was coming up on some road kill and thought, Wow.. that is an interesting fur color. Now, is that someone's cat? Or a rabbit? Or maybe is it some kind of fox? Or... and then realized, IT DOESN'T MATTER, you goof. Just go around it and move on!)
I was back in town before I knew it. As I passed the Event Center where I spend most of my days, I let out a huge "Woot!" and "I DID it!!!!" I wanted to throw my arms up in the air the way you always see cyclists do in the movies when they cross the finish line. Sadly, I lacked two things -- confidence and balance. But my spirit soared anyway.
And then it happened. As I rode through town, for the first time, the thought came to me, clearly and with certainty: This is doable. I am going to do this. I can, I can, I can.
Even in a granny sweater.
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