Category Archives: Biking

The Art of Slowing Down (And The Wisdom of Louis Armstrong)

Posted on by

4

I’ve often heard that Lent is a season of slowing down. Of drawing closer to God, to others, to the wide open world around us. A time for spiritual reflection and inner examination. An opportunity to go a little deeper in trying to figure out Jesus. A time to pause. A time for simplicity.

This Lent, I decided to get back into biking to and from work (in addition to cold showers and placing a penny in the “Suck it Up or Shut Up” jar each time I catch myself complaining). IMG_1458
When I moved across town in June, I said I’d bike once I found a good route, but I weasled my way out of it for reasons such as having to bike through some sketchy areas by myself, something I was a bit fearful of.

Now a few days into it, I’ve found a route and a rhythm. I got off to a rough start the first day of Lent biking home drenched by the down-pouring rain. Two cars didn’t see me, causing me slam on the brakes, skidding in the middle of an intersection. Cars passing by splashed water up against me like a small ocean wave. It was cold. It was dark. And I kept making wrong turns, making my time in the rain even longer. I had a “shake your fist at God” moment, muttering things that warranted pennies in the jar, and then managed to put my sopping wet hand back on the handlebar. I thought about the journey that women in Africa make to and from water wells and firewood piles on a daily basis, often risking the possibility of getting raped just to gather these essentials for their families. Surely, I didn’t have it so bad.

And most of us don’t.

As I biked home today and pulled up to my house, exhilaration flooded my body with the sounds and sights of life around me. Daylight was still visible at ten of six. Birds chirped goodnight lullabies to their young. Soon, it will be March, which will usher in spring.

Despite all of this beauty, I was about to walk in the house to begin my usual routine: put away my dirty work clothes from the day, wash today’s lunch containers, pick out clothes for tomorrow, eat something better than cereal for dinner…

But I stopped myself. Why did all of those things seem so pressing? Why do I do each of those things the second I come home? Outside, the sky is changing hues from deep cobalt blue, to indigo purple, to peachy pink, without the help of any human hand. How can I settle for doing dishes when the world around me is putting on a symphony of light and color in the sky?

I sat on the ledge of my front porch, dangling my feet over the edge, bouncing them up and down. I looked up the block and felt gratitude to have the opportunity to live in a neighborhood I enjoy coming home to. I looked up at the two airplanes in view, traversing the sky, filled with passengers, dreamers, grace-givers, homesick spouses, screaming infants annoying the people in front of them, questioners, seekers, searchers, adventurers, and people wondering how quickly they can get off this airplane. Fellow human beings, like you, like me, in a slate colored vehicle with aluminum wings and flashing lights that can get you from Atlantic to Pacific in five and a half hours.

All of this is so amazing.

This world. It’s so beautiful. And everyday, we have the opportunity to relish it. How many days are spent checking off to-do-list items on the backs of receipts? Why do we think we’re so busy all the time? Why do I always feel like I have things to do, when really, all that I might need to do in that moment is…. slow down and look up.

Look up.

The dishes can wait. Your lunch will get packed. Come. Sit. Out here on the stone porch. Come sit and settle in with your maker, like a child and a parent snuggled up on the couch. Breathe in the world around you. Observe the movement of cars filled with people; some going home, some going to meetings, some going to fill their refrigerator with more food than we can ask for, some going to see a dear friend, some going crazy. Feel the stillness of tall trees; though brown and bare now, a metamorphosis is coming. Stop rushing. Enjoy your life. Enjoy the Earth. Enjoy every good and beautiful thing around you.

I sit outside until my fingers feel numb.

Spring’s a’comin, but it sure ain’t here yet.

I sink deep inside myself, shoulders unslumped, before heading in.

Louis Armstrong was right, I think to myself.

What a wonderful world.

IMG_1468

The Journey, Not the Destination.

Posted on by

9

Photo credit for each picture in this post: Kim Meagher

This gallery contains 4 photos.

September 23, 2012: I’ve often heard it said that it’s about the journey, not the destination, that counts. I’ve also heard that the journey of 1,000 miles begins with the first step (or in this case, pedal). Keeping the two … Continue reading →

Which is Yes…

Posted on by

0

Image“I thank you God for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees,
and for the blue dream of sky and for everything
which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes.” -E. E. Cummings

Aug 12: Sunlight all around, making the green fields glisten like the first coat of untrampled upon snow. The wind is lightly blowing in my face, a warm late summer breeze that feels more like spring. My legs move up, down, up, down, up, down, faster now, exhilarated by the velocity of a good bike ride, breathing heavier now. There’s sunflowers waving in the grass, some wildflowers hugging the edge of the road. There’s so much beauty to see. Orioles fly gracefully through a field, orange belly lighting up the sky. I have no roadmap, no predetermined route. I am an explorer now. And oh, by bike, there’s so much to see. So much to see…

I take a turn down a hill off to my right and cycle around a CSA farm. I can see spinach and lettuce and other greens growing off in the distance as a woman approaches the garden, presumably to help share in the farming responsibilities. It’s the aura, the ethos of Community Supported Agriculture that gets me. People coming together to grow and harvest food that will nourish brothers and sisters, neighbors, families gathered ‘round the table, and those who pine with a deep hunger to have just one meal with a family like that, ready to say grace before the passing of baskets, dishes, and salt. There’s something about this that’s heavenly and holy, divine, like that’s the way food is supposed to be- you’re supposed to get your hands dirty and know the faces of the hands that plucked your berries from the vine or the tomatoes now garnishing your salad. It’s as if you’re supposed to celebrate that the produce you’re eating was once just some tiny seed that made its way through heatwaves and deluges of rain, sunny days, cloudy days, and days in between, just growing, growing, growing…

I head back to the main road, going down streets I’ve never been on, neighborhoods and schools and hills I never knew existed. A father goes on a walk with his two daughters, one in the back of a wagon, the other blithely by his side. We smile and wave.

I take in a deep breath, filling my lungs until they say “no more,” and prepare for a steep hill, fantasizing about the view from the top. Changing gears, slowly but persistently, inching but persevering, legs getting stronger and leaner with every turn of the pedal, I make it up to the top and discover a new place that I will watch sunsets from.

It’s beautiful now, this moment, this evening sunset just doing the same thing it does night after night, only I don’t stop often enough to give it the glory it deserves.

It’s stunning, really, the sun ablaze, hovering over tree tops, trying to avoid sinking down beneath the nighttime covers of the horizon, a firery ruby orange, a sapphire in the sky.

Oh it’s so beautiful.

The whole wide world.

It’s fricken beautiful, and I have everything I need.

It’s beautiful and God, it feels good to be alive.

It’s beautiful and this Sabbath bike ride pulls me in deeper, deeper into you God. I’m pedaling downhill, I’m flying fast now; exhilarated, like a child on their first rollercoaster getting brave enough to wave her hands in the air.

Oh yes I’m pedaling harder now, making my way around the bends in the road, biking past a tall damn with geese at the top, looking over the edge. I bet they’re daring each other to jump or fly off the edge- “you go,” “no, you go…”

I bike over the bridge where I went bridge jumping with friends, wearing my cap and gown one jubilant night in May 2009 with friends. This spot always causes a smile to traverse my face, usually from the right to the left as I ruminate the rush of that plunge over and over again.

I peer over my shoulder one more time and there’s that sunset again, this time emanating from water.

It’s beautiful.

My eyes can capture each hue, every tint, every highlight of sky refracting off the water.

It’s beautiful, God, and I get to see it… get to see it, taste it, feel it, experience it.

And it was one of those amazing days composed of everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes…

In Which I Find God in the Grace and Patience of More Experienced Cyclists

Posted on by

0

I finally got my hands on a road bike, complete with bike shoes, clips and, even matching waterbottles. It’s quite a change going from a hybrid bike in sneakers to trying to bike in a shoe attached to your pedals, but hey, there was a triathlon practice tonight and sometimes the only way to learn is to just go out there and try.

Arriving slightly disheveled, I felt like I was wearing a giant sign on my forehead that said, “newbie.” My chain came undone because I shoved my bike too hard into my backseat in a cursory effort to not be late. I had no idea how to “clip in” and “clip out.” So for ten minutes in the parking lot of Meadowood Park, I was surrounded by three patient, gracious teachers, dependent upon some mercy and grace.
“Let’s make sure you’ve got the hang of using your clips before we leave.”
“But I don’t want to hold you guys back from biking!” I retorted.
“Just practice. And it’s ok if you fall.”
The next painstaking ten minutes were filled with feelings of inadequacy, after all, I must be a complete idiot if I couldn’t even do their most basic instructions: “Just go like this. Press hard. Harder. You’ll hear it click in.” Press, press, turn of the pedal. Still not clipped in. Repeat. Finally, my right foot is in! And, like a kid riding a bike without training wheels, I weebled and wobbled trying to get my left foot clipped in. “You want to start with the right pedal up and give yourself some leverage,” one of them called out as I watched a couple of them demonstrate. I’m moving and inching and pressing my left foot for what feels like an eternity, until finally I hear a coveted “click,” signaling that I was now successfully clipped in on both my left and right sides. I did a small lap around the parking lot and slowed down when I reached my bike-teacher comrades. “No, no keep moving!!” One guy calls out as I attempt to stop without unclipping. Nearly crashing into one of the other cyclists, she moved out of my way and I did another lap, this time focusing on unclipping. After successfully managing that, we were ready to be on our way. This couple who had just finished their evening ride smiled at me. “You’ll love it!” they exclaimed. “You’ll get used to it in no time.” Yeah right… I thought to myself as we took off. I was dreading the two stops we’d have to make at stop signs along our route. Fortunately I was able to clip out in time to stop, but trying to clip in uphill for the first time didn’t go so smooth. After almost taking a fall to my left side, I somehow managed to clip out my left foot, as if a “fight or flight” instinct kicked in. I re-clipped and took a deep breath, soaking in the backdrop of farmland and woods on a summer evening. We finished our ride a short 11 miles later and gathered at the parking lot, where I thanked this group profusely for their patience and their grace.

It was a “God moment” for me. Every moment can be a “God moment” if you choose to see it that way, but there are times when I find God in the most unconventional ways, like through three strangers who give you, the newbie, some patience and grace, which had probably been extended to them when they first started cycling competitively years ago. My pride was a bit shaken, as I humbly found myself really needing to ask questions. Being a fairly decent athlete, it was hard to realize that I possessed a pride that I needed to let go of in order to accept that right now, biking isn’t my strong suit and I don’t have it all together… never have, never will. I felt like God used those fellow bikers that day to show me a tangible example of what it feels like to receive patience and grace and to also remind me that this is exactly what I need to be doing for others too. Perhaps God puts us in situations in which we feel dumb and inadequate so that S/He can teach us to depend on one another, extend patience and grace, and realize we’re all in this together. What’s that saying? No man is an island? Yeah, well, turns out no woman is either. It’s like we all need each other anyways, so we might as well get along and love hard while we’re at it… Elite biker, novice biker, those who never had bikes, and yes even the guy who stole my hybrid bike back in April. A heaping pile of patience and grace? Yes, I’ll take some of that and let’s pass it ‘round, like mashed potatoes circling the table at Thanksgiving. Come on, dig in, find your seat at this table. Because everyone’s invited and everyone receives grace and patience… mashed potatoes optional.