I grew up in really small towns.
Circle Back, Texas: Population 4.
McCamey, Texas: Population 2500.
Veribest, Texas: Population 16
These west Texas towns are mere dots lost on the maps, off rural roads and an hour away from a supermarket.
The schools I attended were respectively small, and all of us were bussed in from the farms. Miles separated us. Playdates were only on birthdays.
The tumbleweeds were friends. So were the stray cats. I even had an invisible best friend for a while. We?d talk about boys and ride our bikes down the dirt roads. Technically, they’re caliche roads, but nobody knows what caliche is unless you?re from west Texas.
Imagine gravel but bigger and dirtier. That’s caliche.
My bike was my savior. We didn’t have television, internet hadn’t been invented yet, so on sunny days, I’d take my purple bike out into the expansive caliche parking lots of the neighborhood churches. I?d pedal as hard and as fast as I could, allowing the wind to cool the unforgiving sun on my face.
I was ten years old, which isn’t old enough for a real bike. To brake, you?d pedal backwards. Caliche didn’t hold much traction. You’d ride hard, brake, and slide out of control, hoping for the best. My hair smelled like the dusty wind and to this day I swear there are small bits of gravel embedded in my bones from the many tumbles I took, flying off the bike, sans helmet, and across the parking lots. Each burn and scrape a challenge to try again.
Pedal hard.
Brake hard.
Skid.
Land it.
Success.
***
I wasn’t afraid of falling. Of bleeding or the sun.? I never looked down, only ahead.
As I became a teenager, I got a different bike. We moved to Abilene and I’d ride on the quiet streets of our neighborhood. They were paved. Smooth. And I could still pedal fast, racing the cars on the street running parallel to me.
And then we moved to Dallas. Where we lived wasn’t safe. The bike disappeared.
I became an adult.
I stopped riding.
(I stopped doing a lot of things).
Sixteen years later, I’ve committed to riding across the country in the summer.? I buckled down and bought a bike. A good bike.
The next day, this last Sunday, I put on all my gear: a cushy pair of shorts, leg warmers, a helmet, a knit cap, two jersey shirts, a heart rate monitor, and began to pedal.
The bike and I went down a safe road with a few small hills. There wasn’t a lot of traffic and there was plenty of room to move.
I was shaky. My hands, unsteady, trying to remember how to keep balance. My fingers fumbled as I shifted gears as my brain tried to remember which side did what. Was it the left side that made the major changes and the right side to tweak? Oh crap. A hill. Click the gears. They stick. That can?t be right. I pedal up the hill. My legs won?t move. I hop off, and walk it to a turnaround.
Downhill time.
Maybe this will be easier.
Gripping my brakes like my life depended on it, my bike and I flew down the hill with the cold wind burning my face. I needed more traction. I tried to shift down. Nothing happened. I really need to learn to use these gears. The hill I am on is a baby, maybe three hundred yards or so and not very steep. When I run in the morning, it’s my favorite.
But going downhill on a bike? I’m terrified. I feel like I’m going ninety miles an hour. It’s probably closer to twenty. I think to the future. This is 300 yards. In six months, I’ll have miles and miles of downhill coasting.
I can’t stay in a straight line.
Where is the girl who embodied me twenty years ago? The girl who wasn’t afraid to eat gravel or bleed? Who didn’t care what her windblown hair or chapped face looked like?? The girl who pushed her pedals up and down until her legs became numb but she always believed she could go a little faster?
She grew up.
(Oh, little girl…you are still there somewhere. I’ve buried your spirit in a mess of insecurity, comfort, and safety.)
It’s raining outside as I write this, it’s midnight, and I’m half asleep on a sleeping pill that is proving ineffective. My new bike sits in the corner of my living room. She and I have exchanged awkward glances all day.
“Can I trust you??” I ask her.
She remains silent.
“You have so many parts. What if a spoke breaks? What if a brake breaks? What if my chain breaks? I don’t know how to nurse you back to health.”
Silent, still.
“Seriously, bike. You weigh less than my cat. How are you going to handle this trip??”
“No,” she finally speaks. “How are you going to handle this trip?”
“What if you fall? What if you bleed? What if you don’t know what to do? What if you have to ask for help? What if you look like an idiot?”
“Well, yes,” I say, ignoring her unrelenting stare. If she had arms, they’d be crossed.
“So what if,” she snaps again. “That’s what you?re afraid of?”
“Listen, bike. I’ve always been in control. If you knew my old bike, you’d know I didn’t need anyone then. My old bike would say that I have trust issues. I don’t trust you. I don’t trust me. I don’t really trust others right now. You?re making me want to start drinking again.”
“Get over yourself.”
“Why am I even talking with you? You?re a freaking bike. Bikes don’t talk.”
“We don’t? I may be a bike, but the bike you had when you were ten made you feel fearless. I can do that too, if you?ll let me.”
“Just don?t make me fall.”
“Nice try. Everyone falls.”
“Well, at least be there when I get up.”
“I’ll be there.”
Fearless. Risk. My ten-year-old heart was so much more secure, more confident than my thirty-year-old heart.
Braver.
One thing I am going to search for as we cross into the West Texas plains in June is the ghost of my ten-year-old spirit. I left her there without her bike, so she had no way of escaping.
I need her.
I need a lot of things.
(I need people. I know that. My heart stops there. Does bike riding help remove those walls? Can you buy a sledgehammer when you buy your pedals?)
I think the first step is admitting that.
I’m still working on imagining what the next step will be.
When it will come.
Unexpected, probably.
Painful, probably.
But worth it.
I hope.
And when I have no trust, no courage, and no strength…hope I can always find.
So, hope. Here’s to you.
——–
Comments
40 responses to “My Bike Talks to Me. At Least When I’m on a Sleeping Pill.”
You bought a Bianchi?
First you tell us that you’re riding across the USA, then you tell us you’ve bought a Bianchi. I refuse to admit that I’m jealous.
(Yes, I totally wish I could ride with you next year. I’ve cycled across Australia five times as well as cycling in India and Canada. I’ll continue to follow your progress with great interest.)
.-= Rodney Olsen?s last blog ..Defending God =-.
Anne: it gets easier with practice. You will look back some day and wonder why in the world you were so apprehensive. BTW: I ride an 11 year old Bianchi. :)
.-= Bill (cycleguy)?s last blog ..My Big Mouth =-.
I forgot: my bike speaks to me a lot. It says, “Ride me. Ride me. Today.”
.-= Bill (cycleguy)?s last blog ..My Big Mouth =-.
So when it speaks. Does it do so with an Italian accent?
.-= Steven?s last blog ..Untitled =-.
Beautiful!
This spoke volumes!!!!!
.-= Lauren Kelly?s last blog ..Happy Thanksgiving Eve! =-.
Anne –
As an author words mean a great deal to you – you will find this interesting (http://analyzewords.com/index.php).
My first bike was one I had to repair after finding it in a ravine. Once someone asked me to think back as far as I could remember to that one defining moment when I felt fulfilled and no one else was involved in making me feel that way. I found myself thinking about that bike and the many hours I spent keeping it in a prestine condition. I ended up teaching all the neighborhood kids how to fix their bikes (kind of like an informal bike clinic). Scripture tells us that God knows us in our mother’s womb – today I love taking broken relationships and breaking them down into smaller components so those who are hurt can rebuild them – that bike was a part of God revealing to me what was unique about me. Treasure that bike – learn Italian – it has an awful lot to say to you as you not only ride for a cause but find cause in your ride.
i love this post, annegirl. so much! :) best wishes for the journey… the one leading up to the actual physical journey, that is. :)
great post. this is exactly what i needed to read today…thank you.
.-= elizabeth?s last blog ..everybody sing like it?s the last song you will ever sing =-.
One pedal stroke at a time.
I totally echo the West Texas and Abilene comments. I have traveled a similar road and reflect on my days of my BMX in the parking lot of the school in Westbrook, TX. Now I cannot wait to get on my road bike and ride in the Red Rock Canyons here in Las Vegas.
You will realize how therapeutic a bike is once you cross over the fear.
One stroke at a time!
.-= Lantz Howard?s last blog ..The Greatest Currenency =-.
Isn’t it curious how much of our spirit we bury with every year of life-with every wound from others and ourselves? I pray that you can find little Anne’s fearlessness, her joy, and her trust on this journey.
we will be here for you ,too, Anne! We have the utmost of faith in you. You will persevere, that I know! You know why? ..because you have done it over, and over, and over.
I love what Candy said above…”best wishes for the journey? the one leading up to the actual physical journey, that is” As a fan, I can’t wait to witness both journey’s.
love
reese
Happy Thanksgiving week All!
.-= Reese?s last blog ..Got Humility? =-.
Anne,
I remember my first ride on a ‘road bike’ 7 years ago. I made it up the hill but did not think to get my feet out of my pedals as I came to a complete stop. It must have been great entertainment for the cars near when I fell over. It wasn’t the only time I have fallen and there will probably be more. But riding a bike is great fun and great exercise.
Keep going…you will gain more confidence in yourself and your bike.
.-= Michael?s last blog ..Crazy Things I Have Heard in 27 Years of Ministry =-.
i used to ride my bike everywhere… i even rode down hills with my hands in the air. i wonder what happened to that girl?
thanks so much for your insights..
I bought my road bike a few months ago. I’m 34. Oh yes… and I committed to ride the bike leg of an Olympic triathlon as part of a team.
What I didn’t know is that this particular bike course is ALL HILLS. Not little rolling hills but intense, steep hills.
Thinking back to my youth, when my Sweet Pea banana seat bike was my *freedom* to cruise all over town I would eagerly RACE the hills with my friends and brother. Now the prospect of hills causes my heart to race and panic to set in.
I GET IT. I’m trying to find the fearlessness of my youth, too.
I’m doing it in Spin Class right now, trying to build confidence and endurance. I’m pretty sure both of us will be fine. Just as soon as we start trusting ourselves. Doubt is the worst thing. Faith in myself, faith in the training process, faith in my friends who are in it with me… and faith that God is working something out in me is what I’m trying to lean on. Sort of like riding a bike. At some point you gotta take your feet off the pavement and trust that the bike will stay upright and you take us where we want to go. :)
I love watching your journey. Please keep telling us about it. :)
.-= Michelle Sidles?s last blog ..Tis the Season =-.
Last summer I bought my first bike in YEARS, $75. And I’ve gotten every single penny out of it since! I loooove bike riding! It’s so relaxing, but you can still get a work out, it’s totally calming and just makes you feel refreshed! AND, I can walk (run) my dog without having to put in a hr long walk! Haha.
You bike looks great!
I need to invest in some legwarmers…thanks for the idea (:
.-= katelynjane?s last blog ..{Gimmie Post} =-.
Great post Anne. I was imagining you flying down that hill… it made me laugh out loud for real! sorry. :) It will get better… hey it’s just like riding a… bike. Sorry couldn’t resist.
.-= Ashley Jensen?s last blog ..Thoughts on Insecurity =-.
Since you live in Nashville, I’ll make sure to call you to visit me for my first ER trip for this comment. :)
Once again you have me laughing hysterically and getting lost in your world for a moment. I needed that. Thank you Anne! Great post
.-= Devon Groner?s last blog ..What?s Your Story? =-.
Anne, I had this same conversation last week with some pastels and a sketch book.
I used to love all kinds of art stuff when I was young. I remember my parents kept me steadily supplied with a huge variety of art supplies. And then I got so focused on trying to be a “good adult” that my 10 year old artist got lost.
I ended up going to college to be a teacher (and get a steady job), but never got all the right classes taken to get my license. I’m thankful for that now; I’m afraid I would never have gone out to buy a new set of pastels and a sketch book.
The conversation I had while staring at that blank page was great for my spirit and my courage. Even if I don’t get to use them much, the conversation alone was worth the cost.
Thank you for sharing your story.
.-= Jen C?s last blog ..I?m being caught up with =-.
When I was 13 I got a summer job cleaning bathrooms at a truck stop motel. (I know what you’re thinking, all that glamor AND $3/hr?) I lovingly referred to the place as ‘the snake pit’.
The motel was about 8 miles from my house and, being thirteen, my trusty 10-speed was the only mode of transportation available. I decided to put one of those gizmos on my bike to track how many miles I pedaled. All was well for about 2 weeks.
I still don’t understand the science of it, but it seemed to be uphill in both directions. On the ride home, there was long hill that rolled down for almost a mile. Some days I would coast, but sometimes I would pedal my 13 year-old heart out. One day in particular I laid out flat, head down, legs pumping relentlessly. Without warning my little mile tracker attached to the front wheel blew into a hundred pieces, flinging metal and plastic projectiles straight into my squinted eyes. It was more surprise than pain, but the shock was enough to break my concentration, disrupt my balance and launch me into the roadside cat-tails at a rather rapid pace. Bike and body entangled in the ditch, it took a moment to find my place again in time. Once I realized I wasn’t broken, I started to laugh. I withdrew myself and my trusty 10-speed from the ditch, climbed back on my steel pony, and headed home again.
You, Anne, are a warrior. If you fall, you will stand again. If the road seems to win, it’s only temporary. God has called you and is equipping you; of that I have no doubt. I’m excited about your journey and I know, if things start flying apart, the cat-tails will cushion your fall.
I loved this post!
.-= Donna Frank?s last blog ..In the silence =-.
This is a great post Anne!
At what point do we lose the carefree love of life? At what point do we lose our creativity, our fearlessness, our love of the simple things?
Awesome thoughts! Made me tear up a bit!
.-= John Alexander?s last blog ..Disappointed by ?Ideals? =-.
I assume you’ve heard this quote … “Courage is not the lack of fear, its acting in spite of fear.” Which is exactly what you are going and you are going to make it!
As for finding that little girl … your word image of picking her up in west Texas is great. But in reality she’s in you – right there in Franklin TN! And as you become comfortable on ? (does she have a name yet?) little Annie will start surfacing and love riding again.
.-= Janet?s last blog ..Winning Wednesday =-.
“She?s Italian; a bit forward.” that made me laugh so hard I almost got past how to the point your post was. (I know lots of Italians) Almost.
Thanks for sharing Anne.
Wow. That was good. You should write books or something! :)
I hope you find your ten-year-old self again. You will… she’s waiting for you.
.-= Graham?s last blog ..Happy Thanksgiving! =-.
Great post! I love the stories you shared of your childhood. I’m always amazed at how picking up an old activity can bring back such clear, vivid memories.
.-= Rachel H. Evans?s last blog ..Have a liberated holiday! =-.
this past summer we were in seaside and they had bikes to ride and i was so scared…i too was the same when i was younger. I had my road bike and then my “tricked out” bike with pegs and all to do tricks. I didnt care about falling…it was fun. But now, i am too scared to go on a leisure ride…with no tricks and no hills.
You have made me want to start riding again. I have a bike that sits on our deck…untouched for 3 years. I should tune it up and get it out there.
.-= Lynse Leanne?s last blog ..Happy Thanksgiving =-.
Anne,
I think you’re just a little bit crazy.
Which makes your writing brilliant.
Thanks for the inviting post…
.-= Chris Tomlinson?s last blog ..Dear Kayli Anneke =-.
I like you Anne. :-)
My bike talks to me all the time and I don’t take pills. :) I think that means it’s totally normal.
One of the things I love about bicycles is how they grow with us. Not the same one, obviously, but they have a shorter life span too. When you’re a kid you only need one gear and coaster breaks (the pedaling-backward kind). Twenty years later you’re going further and the terrain has changed, so you need gears and hand-brakes, but the basic mechanics – the pedals and the front fork – and the freedom are the same.
[And you have to pedal when you change gears. If you shift going down-hill, pedal a few times just to spin the sprockets so the chain can jump. :)]
.-= Lex?s last blog ..Are you a Compassion sponsor yet? =-.
Anne-
Simply brilliant- may the ink of your pen never run dry.
Anne,
WOW! It’s not everyday I read a blog that mentions McCamey or Abilene, TX. My mom was born in McCamey and I lived in the beautiful city of Abilene for several years…my Dad grew up in Kermit. I could envision exactly what you were writing. (I have to say, I was grateful to spend most of my life in Austin!)
You’re inspiring me to get back into my exercise routine. I’ve been on “exercise-vacation” for a little over a year now, w/many other vacations tucked into the last 5 yrs. It just happens that way sometimes. Not good, but life. I’m feeling the itch to get back, and will probably feel it even more Thur. evening.
I enjoyed going back in time in my mind to my first bike -green w/big ‘ol handelbars and a basket (and a plastic flower)…it was awesome. My bike and I hung out a lot when I was young, and had many fun adventures. I think the key is finding adventure in life today, as adults, w/responsibilities and spouses and kids and bills….but it wakes up the kid inside us all and makes our heart smile. That’s what I see happening in you. Thanks for your honesty!
This is such a good illustration and if we’re honest, a lot of us could / should be looking for our 10 year old spirit. The one that’s been beaten out of us from fear, age, maturity, etc. The one that dreamed what seemed like impossible dreams.
I have a Bianchi and she mocks me often. Also lives in the living room. Sometimes, I call her Biatch-y
dw
.-= 6YearMed?s last blog ..All of My Days =-.
I hear myself in your post today. I took up cycling last year and have not really ventured too deep into (even though I want to) because of fear mostly and also because of those stupid walls I haven’t figured out how to bring down. Thanks for saying what I’ve been feeling but didn’t know how to articulate quite so eloquently. I look forward to vicariously sharing this journey with you.
Oh this is gonna be such a GREAT summer coming up…your words are so evocative and arouse awake a place in us that, for many, has been asleep for a while. I just simply cannot wait to see this beautiful trip unfold before my very eyes…
Anne,
I am a 47 year old, burned out PW in the midwest who just started riding road bikes 4 years ago! It has been the best anti-depressant and escape ever. I can get on her and ride for hours and come home feeling so much better. Hepls me find myself! Enjoy!
What a great post! And strangly timely for me. I am beginning a journey of my own and fear is threatening to take over. Trust is at the core, but isn’t it with nearly everything? I’ll be following your journey for encouragement as I start on my own.
Fear is a funny thing isn’t it? It terrifies us into staying put. Even if we hate where we are.
Praying God does amazing things in your life as you ride!
.-= Jan Owen?s last blog ..What I’m Thinking as I Visit Your Church =-.
I just got a new (to me) bike too. I won’t be biking across the USA – like you, but hopefully I will be biking to our offices with Daniel. Yay for great calf muscles!! Well, yay for the possibility of one day achieving great calf muscles. Wait?! What? Um, I was born with calf muscles….nevermind.
.-= kristiapplesauce?s last blog ..Trash =-.
It is very strange to see a blog entry like this on the very day that I realized that my bike has been calling me for years. Alas, that old Nishiki is long gone, frame bent in the 89 Santa Cruz earthquake and rusting in a shed in South Carolina.
Still, that voice continues to speak to my soul, and this weekend I finally heeded the call, with a 2010 Motobecane Immortal Pro, a carbon framed Ferrari on wheels (17 lbs soaking wet too!). Now that voice is strong, having swapped a Japanese accent for a decidedly French lilt. I may not ride across the U.S. on my Pro, but it will look very nice on the back bumper of my 2009 Smart car, and will likely take me across Florida in the near future, from Cocoa Beach to Tampa!