Seen on My Ride, Part 2

The first time I ever noticed this sign I thought it was simply declaring the obvious: it's windy! I learned that this is a "whistle" sign for trains. (The bike path used to be a train track.)

How often do you notice town line signs when driving a vehicle?

I love the cafe ride. We usually stop here.

An early morning ride with a beautiful view.

Parked outside the cafe.

It's all his fault. He got me into cycling a few years back. (Well, Kevin shares in the blame, too.)

Seen on my ride, Part 1

I started posting some "on my ride" posts on Facebook...you know, "heard on my ride" or "seen on my ride," etc. It's not always feasible to stop and take a picture but I decided to snap a photo when I'm able too.  These aren't all "Seen on My Ride" pictures, but some bike related photos I've taken since March. (All photos taken with my phone...no attempts to be a "real" photographer.)

This photo was taken my first time ever riding this bike. The bike shop I purchased it from is located near my mother's house. I stopped by the house on my test ride and snapped the photo while in her garage. Less than an hour later, the bike was officially mine.

Taken on my first ride with the new bike.

Laying out the gear before a ride. (Looks like Ten Points on the table.)

That's a square of a Hershey bar on the ground. I resisted the temptation. 

An early season ride, just getting back on the bike regularly...needed some extra fuel to get home.

Like A Child

There are only two ways to live your life. One as though nothing is a miracle.

The other is as if everything is.

-Einstein

For a moment it was summer in Girona. The café was warm, almost a perfect temperature. Paul walked back to the table, stepping around a helmet and gloves left on the floor, and handed me a mug of hot coffee. Rod, Fro and the KOM were still waiting for their drinks. The five of us sat around the little table at the coffee shop in Girona.

The problem is, I've never been to Girona.  I've read of it in books though I can’t tell you in whose book I encountered it. (I suspect it was either David Millar’s, Tyler Hamilton’s or Floyd Landis’s…or some combination thereof.)  For a moment, though, I was at a café in Girona after a training ride with my team.

In reality, we were far from Girona, far from summer, far from a training ride and far from pros (me especially.) When I left my house that morning just after 6:30, it was 28 degrees Fahrenheit. I met up with the guys and we rode to the café. It could not have been an easier ride- physically anyway- hardly a training ride. And yet here I was, (however briefly) laughing with my pro-cycling team in a Girona café after a training ride.

They say that riding makes you feel like a kid again and children love to pretend. They make something out of nothing- a fort out of a refrigerator box, a racetrack out of tile patterns. One of my girls asked me recently if we could get more boxes. What was trash for me was a gift for her. As goofy as it may seem, I've climbed the Alpe d'Huez and sipped coffee in Girona, though I've never been to France or Spain. A bike will do that for you.

Thanks to Gary Walter for the Einstein quote.

Joy

I had never heard of Alison Tetrick until Bill Strickland tweeted a link to this blog on her webpage. Apparently, she's a professional cyclist. In a recent post she talks about her encounters with the "weekend warriors." She uses the phrase not as a term of derision, but rather as a descriptor of those who don't ride professionally and who catch rides as they are able. Usually, that ability is greatest on the weekends. Turns out, these weekend warriors remind her of how "fortunate" she is:

You are on your bike, and you are happy.  You are overjoyed.  You are free again.  You are a child again.  You are grinning ear to ear.  There isn’t grit, there is just happiness.  I like that joy.  I like Saturdays and Sundays because I see people on their bikes just happy to be out there. 

Click here to read her full post. 

Advent

The night before a morning ride involves a predictable routine. After prepping my bottles and tossing them in the fridge, I check the hourly weather report 2-3 times from 2-3 different sources. After settling on the predicted temperatures I run through what I wear in when I ride in the predicated temperatures. I also try to recall what I wore on last ride in this temperature range and if what I wore worked for that ride. After settling on what I’ll wear, I lay the gear out, usually on the floor outside my bedroom.

There’s a sense of excitement and anticipation that accompanies this process. I think about the ride that’s coming up and who (if anyone) I expect to be with me, the route we’ll take, how many miles we’ll cover. It’s not unusual to have a difficult time falling asleep due to the anticipation. I suppose that sounds stupid, after all, it’s just a bike ride- but I can’t help it, I always expect the ride to be a great one.

In the morning I wake up, drink some water and usually eat some cereal and a banana. I do  some stretching, I dress, grab my bottles and head to my bike. I give it a once over, check the tire pressure and then I’m ready to ride. 

Boundary Lines

I rolled up to our meeting spot, clicked my cleats out of my pedals and placed both feet on the surface of the bridge. Jim and King of The Mountain offered greetings. I reached into the back pockets of my jacket and pulled out a second pair of gloves. After taking off my half finger wool gloves with the mitten covers, I put these full-fingered gloves on and then my glove/mittens over the top of my previously pocketed gloves. Joseph commented on the cold and I asked him about his new bike. “The jury’s still out,” he said, adding that he made some adjustments and was looking forward to testing it today. The three of us chatted while we waited for the others. Soon, Rod, Stoney and Miz arrived- Rod and Stoney from one direction and Miz from the other.

“Is this everyone?” someone asked.

“I think so,” Rod replied, “I don’t think we’re expecting anyone else.”

“No Fro?” I inquired.

“No, he wasn’t able to make it today.”

Rod announced the plan, to ride 2-3 hours and everyone was agreeable. Jim said something about keeping a moderate pace which I was happy to hear. It didn’t occur to me that I had been anticipating a shorter ride, I was just happy to be out for a ride. Rod suggested the Showcase Loop and we set off.

Through the winding roads we eventually hit the highway overpass and turned right at the bottom. Miz and Jim were at the front and after we rolled through the stop sign, they pulled off and drifted to the back of the pack, leaving Joseph and I in the front. We continued on, the six of us, conversations buzzing, sometimes involving only the guy next to you and other times including the whole pack. We climbed a small hill and near the top Rod called out, “Hey, hey! Brian takes the town line sprint.”

It was mostly a joke. Rod may have been the only one who even realized or cared that the town line had been approaching. I suspected he was pointing it out to encourage me more than anything. We all know that, had there been a sprint, I wouldn’t have won it, especially on a climb. Yet here I was at the front of the pack taking a regular, solid pull.

We rode on, the roads twisting and turning. The guys who knew the loop would call out the turns to the guys in front. Eventually, while riding next to Jim, I turned to him and asked, “Is this the climb?” Jim said it wasn’t, but it was coming up. I always wonder what real cyclists think of this particular hill. Do they consider it a real climb? It always seems like it’s easy for everyone else while it’s a struggle for me.

As we approached the climb Jim said to me, “Just relax, don’t kill yourself.” I realized Jim often says this to me when we begin aclimb and I chuckled to myself. I also realized that Jim and I were at the front of the group. I was determined to keep pace with Jim so as to not disrupt the flow of our little pack. Besides, Jim didn’t seem intent on flying up the hill, so it seemed like a reasonable goal. Somewhere along the way with Jim a bike length ahead of me, I noticed Rod beside me. “Try to keep a steady cadence on this next section, just like Jim is.” His words barely registered but I kept pedaling. Eventually I heard Rod say, “Nice job, Brian. Good climbing.”

I looked up and realized we were at the church at the top of the climb. Rod and Jim turned into the U shaped parking lot. In my haze it took a moment to register... “Usually they pull in here to wait for me, but I’m here…why are they stopping?” I looked over my shoulder and realized that the other three were still climbing.

I followed them into the parking lot and followed its “U” to the end. I stopped near the street, reached for a bottle and took a long drink. I slumped over my handlebars, breathing heavily. Joseph rolled over to me saying with a smile, “Ah! The things we willingly do to ourselves!”  Soon, Miz and Stoney rolled in and we continued on. Miz, now next to me picked up a conversation from our last ride. I told him all we needed was the punch line because we had the front-end of a joke on that ride: A pastor, a Unitartian Universalist, and a nominal Jew went for a bike ride…

The next hour passed uneventfully. We rode smoothly, pushing the pace at times. At one point Jim stopped to peel off a layer. I was wishing I had brought a banana and gladly accepted when Rod offered me a handful of some trail mix. We continued on. I rode with confidence and, most of the time, with ease. The miles passed and I felt great. One of the guys was struggling and we’d have to back off now and then to allow him to catch up. I had never been on the “back off” side of the equation, at least not in this group.

Around mile 48 I began to feel some fatigue. We were almost back where we started.  I told the guys I was going to take the direct route home rather than ride to the next town over. This decision shaved 5-6 miles off my ride. Stoney and I made quick plans for a Monday ride and I said goodbye to the group. The last few miles home were a bit slower than the previous 50 or so. I pulled into my driveway, my odometer reading 55, 16.8 avg. I sang in my head (with apologies to Sammy Hagar, of course) “I can ride 55.”

It was the longest ride I’d been on in 4 years. 

Riding With Friends

The flag on the pole was pointing straight at me, confirming what my legs had known for some time: I was riding straight into a headwind.

My mind drifted to the last windy ride I’d experienced just one week prior. That day came one day removed from a long weekend ride. My legs were heavy and thus I was thankful to be able to hide from the wind on “Diesel” Dave’s wheel. Diesel’s tall frame proved to be a great shield. Today, there was nowhere to hide, no shield, so I suffered alone. [1]

The road curved and came to what could almost be called a fork. I leaned to my right, guiding my wheel onto a street whose name I didn't know. I was familiar with the street only through following the guy in front of me on group rides. As the road arced upward, I recalled rides gone by on this mystery street. Images flashed through my mind.  One vivid memory was of slowing for Stoney just a week or two prior. When he caught up I offered, more than I asked, “Tough day, today?” He grunted in agreement. “Hang in there, bud.”  I recalled how odd it felt to have our normal roles reversed. That was weeks ago, but today I was alone and halfway up the hill. I rose out of my saddle to finish the climb. Mystery street rolled on as I turned right. The wind remained as did the absence of any wheel to grab.

She sat across from me, wiping her hair away from her face, her eyes brimming with tears. “I want to tell you something that I hope you don’t find cheesy.”

A privilege of my calling is to listen, pray and to be with people as we navigate this life of faith. My friend had been through a time of suffering. Like those hills that flatten out and lull you into a false sense of security before rising up again, she’d encountered what she thought was the end of the climb more than once, only to discover another section to climb. Some hills are higher than others, after all, and some days the legs just don’t bounce back the way you expect. Still, she’s turning the pedals.

She described a recent time of prayer. “I didn't feel like He offered any reason why, but I felt like Jesus was saying, ‘This is the road we’re taking,’” she motioned with her hand as she spoke, indicating the direction Jesus had pointed. In my mind I pictured mysterious uphill street. “It’s strange, I suppose, but it was comforting to think that Jesus is with me on this road.”

I didn't find it cheesy at all.

---

[1] (I hope my dear readers will forgive my use of the word “suffering.” In the grand scheme of things, it is wholly inappropriate to call what we do on a bike suffering- sort of like describing a football game as “war.” Yet, I hope you’ll allow this license on my part because, aside from the fact that I can’t think of a better word for it, the small suffering voluntarily endured on a bicycle can, I think, inform real suffering in other contexts.)

Writing Uphill

I was out with Diesel on a windy but not too cold afternoon. (I decided to dub him "Diesel" mid-ride and told him as much. "I'll take it!" was his response. Why "Diesel"? Dude just goes.) He asked me about the blog. I confessed that I wasn't sure what I was doing with the blog or where it would go but that I was enjoying it so far.

I work on my posts when I can- I'll steal some time at night or on a day off. I'll read what I've written, fix a word here and there, add to it, cut and paste, revise etc. At some point I convince myself that I have to hit the "publish" button and be done with it or else I'd edit and revise endlessly.

I've got two long-ish posts that I'm working on. One just isn't coming together even though I've been working on it for a couple weeks now. It's as if I'm writing uphill and hitting the wall- a writer's bonk, I guess. Someone said the blog would be like riding "It'll be easy some days, hard others, sometimes too hard but hang anyway. The rewards come." I think they're right. We'll see.

Mt. Hope

I wasn't quite at the top of the hill when a car full of teenagers drove past me. And then there was another. And one more. “Of course,” I thought, “Mt. Hope's letting out.” I considered turning around since I was heading toward the school and certain to encounter more traffic than usual.  I dismissed the thought and kept riding. It seemed easier to maintain my direction, so I continued up the hill.

As I rounded the corner I saw groups of kids walking in bunches toward me. A group of boys, including one on a skateboard, approached. One of the boys called to me, “Hi, biker guy!” I smiled and offered a nod in his direction. I wondered if my old-school-Denver-Broncos’-orange-and-blue ugly, yet beautiful jacket was attracting undo attention.  Old guys in lycra are easy targets for teenage derision, never mind the colorful jacket. When the next group-  a mix of guys and girls- failed to even notice me as I rode past, I dropped my concern. Besides, having worked with teens for so long, any ridicule I might have been subject to would be received with amusement.

Teenagers are a funny bunch; awkward, funny, passionate, searching and surprisingly vulnerable behind the façade of cool. The teens I rode past fit the bill.  Some loud and boisterous, others staring at the ground or the screen of their phone. I scanned the road in front of me, looking a hundred or so feet up ahead and that’s when I first noticed her. It was her outfit that caught my attention; fading jeans and white tank top, tight and small with a low neck-line. Over her shoulder was a boy’s winter coat covered arm, slung carelessly yet somehow purposefully over her. She leaned against him as they walked, bracing herself against the wind on this 40 degree day.

“She must be freezing.” The thought entered my mind at approximately the same time I was close enough to see their faces. He, unsmiling, she smiling and bounding with a nervous energy, attempting to appear both aloof the obvious cold while trying to keep warm next to him. I guessed she was 14 years old. She seemed to enjoy the attention, but I thought I caught a trace of sadness in her eyes as I rolled past.

A silent sadness enveloped me as I prayed for her and rode on. I hope tomorrow will be a better day for her.

New England

It's strange what a few rides in the high 20's or low 30's will do to you. For instance, you might find yourself excited about the prospect of a 40 degree ride. Balmy! Come's with the territory, I guess.

Bike Haiku

My friend George pointed out that a recent Facebook status read almost like a haiku. Thus, I've attemtped to turn it into a real one: 

Riding with new friends

Suffered most of the thirty

Saw some turkeys too

Life Dope

I was supposed to ride with Joseph Saturday, but it didn’t happen. Joseph, if you read my previous post, is better known to you as the King of the Mountain on the Pinarello. An email had gone out earlier in the week with a list of rides that different guys were planning on and an invitation to join in. In between preparing for hurricane Sandy and then the aftermath, it would have been a week to the day since I last got a ride in. I was itching to get out. (We were fortunate in this area as the Hurricane was a non-factor. Others weren’t as fortunate as you undoubtedly know.)

I have three wonderful daughters, all of whom had various degrees of colds and I did not escape unscathed. It left me feeling pretty blah and so I backed out of the ride. There’s always a tension when deciding to skip the ride due to illness or time. Sometimes the best decision is to just ride, even if only for a few miles. The time you “lose” on the bike is more than made up for with the energy and clarity gained post ride.

Some weeks ago, when the Lance Armstrong news was hitting, Carl had stopped by office in the afternoon. That morning I had been on a great ride- a fun, sometimes brutal and yet beautiful ride. Carl, who purchased my Trek from me after I bought my new bike, had recently taken up cycling. We chatted a bit and I said, “You know, I don’t know about bike doping, but cycling is life dope.” The comment reflected how I was feeling that afternoon: energetic, focused and productive. Carl agreed, acknowledging the positive effects of a bike ride.

You often hear of the “runner’s high” but I’ve experienced it on the bike as well. While I don’t experience the “high” on the bike on every ride, the post ride effects are remarkably consistent: better mood and focus, increased energy and overall sense of well-being. There’s science to back this up and you can read about it here.

All that to say, I’m feeling a little tired and somewhat blah this morning, so I’m hoping to do some life dope this afternoon.

A Blast From the Past

I wrote this post back in 2007 and published it in a now defunct blog. I found it while looking for the information from Bill Strickland's book for a post I'm working on. Instead, I decided to re-publish this old post. I wouldn't be surprised if, in an upcoming post, I flesh out the story of how I got into cycling more than I do here, but I enjoyed this blast from the past. I hope you do as well. From 2007:

Well, I discovered that there may be as many as 5 people who read this blog and so I'm feeling a little guilty for not posting my long promised blog about my recent foray into the masochistic world of cycling. Sorry 'bout that...'course if you've been reading for awhile, you knew it would take some time. Without further ado...

My friend Tim is a crazy good cyclist. He's a category 3 racer, which, as far as I can tell, means he's semi-professional. In order to get to the level he's at, Tim does a variety of stupid things. For instance, he'll ride up a hill (that looks more like the side of a mountain) turn around at the top, ride down, and turn around again and ride up. He'll repeat this 10 times or so. He rides in the winter. He rides 4-6 days a week. He'll do 20 mile "recovery rides." Stupid. (Though, I must say, it was pretty cool to see him lose 100+ pounds and transform his whole lifestyle in the process of getting to where he's at now.) Well, one day Tim said, "Come for a ride with me," and my life has been very different since.

There was a time in my life (prior to children, though that seems like a weak excuse) where I was in really good shape. I was working out at least 4 days a week and had about 9% body fat. Those days passed, and while I still play street hockey and softball regularly and never let my weight get too out of control, I wasn't exactly what you'd call "in shape." When I went for my first ride with Tim, it was a bit of struggle to do the 15 or 20 miles at a 14-17 mph pace. Since that day in August, I've lost about 10 pounds (and wouldn't mind dropping another 10) and Saturday got in 40 mile ride in pretty tough conditions. I definitely struggled at times to keep up with the superior cyclists I was riding with, but I was with them at the end of the day. In other words, I've come a long way since that first ride.

Between that first ride and today, I've grown to love cycling. Even the parts I hated at first (like climbing hills) I've grown to love (if in a sick and twisted sort of way.) I've had dreams about riding and trouble sleeping the night before a big ride mostly due to excitement and anticipation. I now do some of those stupid things Tim does (though I've a LONG way to go before I reach his level.)

In his book 10 Points, Bill Strickland recounts his harrowing upbringing, his quest to achieve 10 points in a local weekly bike race and the healing that took place in the process. In the book Bill references a study that indicated that cycling produces the same brain waves that prayer and meditation produce. There is something to be said for being on a bike by yourself early in the morning. In my quest to be a fully integrated being, cycling has definitely helped. It clears the mind, adds discipline to my eating and sleeping habits, and energizes me. I've met and am becoming friends with people that I likely wouldn't have met or befriended otherwise. Cycling is a physical endeavor, but it is more than that too. And I love it.

Welcome Home

I rode the 3 miles to Jim’s house a little harder than I normally do, anticipating a normal warm-up wouldn't suffice for this ride. Arriving at his house I was greeted by some old friends and one unfamiliar face who would become a familiar one over the coming weeks.  I promptly forgot his name after we were introduced so in my mind I dubbed him “King of the Mountain,” due to his polka dotted jersey.

This ride was a “welcome home” ride for Tim, who was back for a brief visit. If you asked Tim, he might tell you the South is home now, but I’m not sure. Regardless, the group was an amalgamation of Tim’s riding friends. Most were amateur racers. Some, like me, were guys that ride and don’t compete formally. Tim was responsible for getting me into cycling in the first place and it was through Tim that I was first introduced to a number of these guys.

I shook hands with Peter, who I hadn't seen in a few years. I had known Peter would be joining us and I have to admit, I was hoping med school would have eaten in to his fitness a bit. It wasn't to be- he appeared to be in phenomenal shape. This worried me some. After a couple years off the bike nursing my knee back to health, I was at a point where I felt I might be able to keep up with this ride. (With this group, it had always been a matter of me hanging on and fighting to survive.) The doubt began to creep in… “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” I consoled myself with the knowledge that I could always drop out early. This thought offered some, but not much, comfort as I didn't want to disappoint Tim…or me, for that matter.

Rod, Jim, Miz, & Stoney all said hello. It was an unusually cold July morning that felt more like late October. I was the only one wearing long sleeves. Stoney gave me a ribbing about my “Darth Vader look” due to my black jacket. Tim smiled at me saying, “Hey man, so good to see you! And check it out! I finally get to meet her in person. Are you loving it?”

“I’m in love,” I confirmed. In spite of my desire to remain somewhat detached from material possessions, I had indeed fallen in love with my new bike. It was my first carbon fiber frame and the first time Tim had seen it in person.

Rod called out the ride, “Well, we’re gonna meet up with Fro at New Meadow and Tim wants to hit Rocky Hill, so we’ll head out that way and then we’ll have some options from there.” Miz began faux complaining. “Why is it that we all can meet at Jim’s house but Fro can’t?” he asked with loud disgust. “F#!kin’ Frohman! The email said, ‘Jim’s house!’ What, he’s too good to meet us here?” We all laughed and headed toward New Meadow. As we rolled out I asked Tim if he had any gels on him. I had meant to grab some the day before and forgot. “Yeah, I have some sports beans, I can hook you up, just let me know.”

We picked up Fro and the ride began in earnest. We rode in a single file at times, and doubled up as much as we could. It was a good pace, hard (for me, anyway) but not impossible to chat.  I engaged in several conversations over the course of the ride. King of the Mountain was riding a Pinarello that looked fairly new. I asked him about it. Turns out he bought it off Ebay and was quite happy with it. Peter asked me if I felt too warm with the jacket and admitted he had considered wearing one. Tim caught me up on his life down South and life in seminary. At one point late in the ride Fro and I were chatting, and I realized that, really, Fro was chatting while I could only manage to choke out a few words of response in between gulps of air.

As we approached Rocky Hill several thoughts flooded my mind all at once: “Try not to get dropped too badly.” “Remember the first time Tim brought you here and Kevin was on Garth’s Bianchi?” “Relax! You can do this.” “Focus on your breathing, your legs will follow.” “It’s a short climb, don’t let it get in your head.” “Oh boy, here we go.” I’m sure there were other thoughts but these are ones I remember.

Stoney, who had been off his bike for a long time and was only recently back on, said “I’m going to take it easy on the hill.” Rod said something I couldn't quite hear, but it sounded like he was going to keep Stoney company. My anxiety subsided a bit. We started up the hill and I was keeping pace with the front group. A few guys accelerated up the hill putting some distance between me and them. Jim, looking over his shoulder, said to me, “Don’t kill yourself, take your time.” He proceeded to fly up the hill leaving me with Rod and Stoney. The three of us crested the hill more or less together. (Them more, me less.) I shifted to a higher gear as we started down the very gradual descent. I kept pedaling and was surprised as I felt my legs coming back to life more quickly than I anticipated.

At the intersection of Rocky Hill and Homestead we regrouped. Tim knowingly handed me a pack of beans. I wolfed them down, not enjoying the taste at all but thankful for the energy I hoped the calories would provide.  We decided on the route from there and soon the sound of cleats clicking into pedals filled the air as we continued on.

Peter and Tim pushed the pace at the front. I cursed the two former rivals-turned-friends under my breath, but didn't really mean it. The reality was that I was overtaken by joy and an endorphin high. Not many months prior I wondered if I’d ever be able to ride more than 10 miles again, let alone hang with these guys. I drank in the sounds: free wheels clicking, pavement buzzing beneath tires, wind rushing through spokes, coughs, laughs, shouts of “car back.” I marveled at the seeming effortlessness that everyone else rode with while I struggled to hang on. In short, I was grateful to be suffering yet feeling stronger on a bike than I’d felt in years. I had missed it so much and now, here I was, in the midst of it again. I could taste the joy.

As we approached the bike path on the way home, Tim turned off to head to his sister’s house. Back on the bike path, our pace dropped to a relaxed crawl. I remarked to no one in particular that it was the best ride I’d been on in a long time. A couple guys offered words of encouragement. “You looked great today.” "Nice job, Brian."

I had gone to Jim’s house that day believing this was a ride to welcome Tim home. Leaving Jim’s house, I knew it was more than that. There’s no place like home.

Pondering Turtle Eggs

One day I was riding on the local bike path with Stoney when we saw a turtle laying eggs in a hole by the edge of the path. Stoney made a quick comment about it that I don’t recall now. I mentioned how I tend to be oblivious to scenery and how I wish I were more observant. I quickly added, “You know, if I were Bill Strickland, I’d turn that turtle into an incredibly poetic and moving blog post.” Stoney agreed, adding, “Yeah, that guy is an amazing writer.”

I tweeted my experience to Bill Strickland writing, “During a ride we saw turtle laying eggs discussed how you'd turn it into a beautifully poetic blog. But 4 me? It was just a turtle.” He tweeted back, “All the better for you; one of the (multiple) reasons I'm not too fast is that I think way too much about way too much.”

Better for me? I'm not convinced. There is a virtue in not being too fast or, put another way, in slowing down and taking time to observe, listen and reflect. I've thought about his comment in the days since and have endeavored to pay more attention, especially as I ride. Until now, this has resulted only in sharing a few observations via Facebook. 

This blog will be an attempt to pay more attention as I ride. I can’t promise it will be often (or ever) profound. I suspect it will at times simply document rides for no other purpose than to relive a great ride. Fair warning: I’m a pastor so it’s inevitable that there will be theological reflections interspersed throughout. More warning: history proves I'm a terrible blogger, so I can’t promise that this blog will last beyond one post, or be updated regularly, but I’m going to give it a shot. I'm not sure where this road will lead, but I'll find out eventually.