A hill in India my husband climbed. Unfortunately, I have no photos of mine!
This bike of mine – it’s taught me more than a thousand classrooms. I think back upon all my years of touring the world on bicycle and am amazed at all I’ve learned from my iron companion. But one experience I had on my bike – one bad decision I made – quite literally changed my life.
That decision came in the middle of North Carolina when I was on my very first tour back in 1988. With no research whatsoever, I had flown into Norfolk, Virginia and set my sights on New Orleans. As I pedaled out of the urban mayhem surrounding the Norfolk airport, I wondered just what lay ahead. What adventures might I find?
In the next few weeks I had my share of adventures and I learned a lot. But then came the day I made my fateful decision. That day I had a choice of two roads through one particular stretch of the country. As I stared at the map analyzing the two lines on the map, I saw little difference. I randomly chose one and started pedaling.
I had cycled probably a hundred miles or more on that path before I started hearing the warnings.
- “You’ve got one hell of a climb coming up!”
- “You’ll never make it up that hill – cars can’t even make it.”
- “Hope you’re prepared – there’s a hill coming up that not even the strongest cyclists can climb!”
For nearly 150 miles I heard the warnings, and that hill grew in magnitude each day. The hill became some sort of big, bad monster out to devour me. It would gobble me up, grind me to bits, and spit out my bones. As I drew nearer, the dread factor rose to astronomical proportions, and I was certain I would end up turning around and pedaling 250 miles back to where I had made that fateful decision.
Early in the morning, after eating an enormous pancake breakfast to fuel my muscles, I headed out. The hill was before me. I would give it my best shot, but knew in my heart I was defeated before I took my first pedal stroke.
I remember very clearly the man walking out of the post office. As he reached for his door handle with one hand, he waved at me with the other and shouted, “Do you know you’ve got one hell of a climb coming up?” I very nearly turned around right then and there.
I looked at the road ahead as it entered into the forest. I saw the incline and the massive wall of mountain ahead of me. I could picture in my mind’s eye the switchbacks, the steep grades, the impossible altitude gain facing me. And then I gritted my teeth and climbed into the saddle.
I started climbing. I pedaled. And I pedaled. I shifted down and pedaled some more. My lungs cried for air and my legs protested at the abuse I was dealing them. I shifted to my lowest gear and kept pedaling.
“One more pedal stroke,” I chanted silently. “One more pedal stroke. One more pedal stroke.”
I wondered when the really steep part of the hill would start – I was maxed out as it was. There was no way I could handle it when it got really steep. Maybe I should turn around and head back now. Why prolong the misery?
One pedal stroke after another, my bike inched its way upward. “One more pedal stroke. One more pedal stroke.” (When will the steep stuff start?) “One more pedal stroke…”
Sweat poured off the tip of my nose and my breath came in sharp, ragged gasps but still my legs moved in those endless little circles. I wondered just how much longer I could hold out. In the meantime, I focused on each and every pedal stroke. I figured as long as I had it in me to pedal one more stroke, I’d keep going.
Suddenly, in my peripheral vision I noticed a woman running out of her house clapping her hands and shouting something. I focused my attention on the road in front of my bike, knowing the briefest lapse in concentration would bring me to a screeching halt. It took a few minutes to register what she was shouting.
“You did it!” she shouted. “You made it up!!”
I stopped my bike and looked at her in confusion. “Huh?”
“You did it! You made it up the hill!!”
I was stunned. I had made it up the hill to end all hills. I had conquered the monster!
As I think back on that climb, I realize I learned a lot from that day. I learned that sometimes life is like that. Sometimes life is tougher than a bed of nails. Sometimes life throws things at us we are certain we can’t handle. And yet, if we think about right here, right now, we can get through. If we set a goal and say, “I can make it through today,” or “I can make it through the next ten minutes,” we can do it. It all comes down to breaking it into small enough - manageable enough - chunks.
For me, it was one pedal stroke. If I had it in me to take one more pedal stroke, I would keep going. And when I put together a whole lot of those pedal strokes, I made it up the hill. That’s how life is – just a simple string of pedal strokes.
*******
Interested in a few more tales from the road?
Gatorade angels - Two men flagged us down in the middle of Baja, California in December of 2006. Their purpose? To set up a treasure hunt of Gatorade for us!
Road angels to the rescue - It doesn't get much lower than being soaking wet in the pouring rain in the middle of an enormous urban sprawl. Fortunately, road angels appeared out of nowhere to take us home.
Dancing in moonlight - Heat can do bizarre things to one's mind - and nowhere else will one find heat like in Death Valley. This tale is one of those once-in-a-lifetime stories that can only come from cycling in extreme heat.
Eastern Oregon is God's country - The desert of Eastern Oregon is more barren and foreign than I could ever have imagined. It also has a charm all its own.
Coming of age in India - The time was fall of 1990 and I was on my own in India during a nation-wide curfew - for a little while anyway. I wish I could report that I handled it well - that I had banished my fears and faced my challenge like a man - but I can't. The truth is that I was reduced to a blithering idiot.
Chased by a bear - It was July of 2008 in northern British Columbia in Canada. My 10-year.old son and I were riding the Alaska Highway when we had a close encounter with a bear.
Comments