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.

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[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.)