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.