My body reflects a sense of mourning. At an energetic level, I ache. My muscles are not sore, nor my joints; but I sense a drag on my energy. I feel as though I’m missing something – perhaps a sense of purpose. I have abandoned my conviction that I can ride across the country. I know now that, even if I am capable at a physical level, I have not planned well enough to accomplish it on this journey. Even rethinking the plan to, “I can ride every day at least part of the day’s journey,” hasn’t made it happen.
As I sit here at the computer in a hotel room in Medora, ND, I am apprehensive about whatever part of the route I try to ride today. How far can I actually get given the weight of the cart and the increasingly hilly terrain? Would I be better off to simply follow I-94 and cover less challenging ground more quickly, or do I take the quieter and prettier side roads and not make as many miles? Our plan this morning was to drive to Wibaux, MT, and have me ride from there as far as I can. The route on my Adventure Cycling maps has me on I-94 a fair amount of that ride. Jennifer at Dakota Cycling said that the expressway is not terribly busy on that stretch, but she recommended a much more beautiful (and longer, and probably more challenging) ride south and then west. We have south winds today. If I go that way, am I setting myself up for “failure”? There is another route, given to me by “Map my Run,” that goes northwest out of Wibaux and curves back down into Glendive. The wind would better support that. All this self-discussion brings me to only one conclusion: I am losing faith in my ability to do this. Yesterday, I had thought I would ride around Theodore Roosevelt Park with Remy. I’m glad I didn’t for two reasons: I got to see more of the scenic beauty in the car than I would have if I’d been concentrating on biking through; and once I drove it, I knew I wouldn’t have made it more than a couple of miles of continuously steep ascents and descents. Imagining doing this without backup, I wonder if I’d have even made it halfway through Minnesota by now. A couple of things come to mind: would I feel better because I was actually challenging myself every day to ride as far as I can, and then stopping to experience the people and the place? Or would I feel defeated because I’m unable to ride 60 miles per day, and the journey would take all summer or longer? I guess I need to come to some understanding with myself about how things have changed and what my intention is now. I have already done something quite surprising for middle-aged people in our culture. I have sold my house and left my home on an adventure. The other component, the one of physical challenge, is still becoming. Sometimes I think of offering Tayler a quicker trip to Seattle – putting her on a train or plane or bus and sending her there – then driving to beautiful places and biking around them: state and national parks, small towns, etc. Of course, I wouldn’t have anyone to rescue me if I got far out away from where I’d parked my car. But it sounds more open than what we’ve been doing. I have enjoyed so many things about the journey, so far. Mostly, they’ve been the unexpected interactions with people along the way – not the desk clerks at the hotels, but the other customers at a coffee shop or grocery store. When I ride alone and then get picked up and drive to a hotel, I miss these opportunities. When I eat in a restaurant with Tayler (whose company I enjoy, don’t get me wrong), I don’t end up talking to other customers or to the server or host(ess) as much as I would if I were alone. Weather is warming, and we have some camping possibilities on the horizon. I hope that will also give me a chance to meet more people. I saw some bikes parked outside the restaurant where we ate last night. Perhaps more people are getting out onto the biking routes, and I will meet them as we travel. This morning, though, I just don’t know. I feel a strong sense of mourning in my body and my soul. This, too, shall pass.
0 Comments
Your comment will be posted after it is approved.
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorThinker, lover, curator of Sacred Space. Archives
June 2016
Categories |