Its Not About the Bike
part one
SATURDAY STORIES ARE A BREAK FROM SCRIPTURE BASED DAILY DEVOTIONAL. SOME ARE JUST STORIES AND SOME HAVE A MORAL TO THE STORY. TODAY IS PART ONE OF A TWO-PART STORY.
I was in my early 40s when I became a recreational cyclist. During high school and up into my 30s I had been a runner/jogger. My knees weren’t built for that. It took its toll, and I eventually gave it up. A friend, Jason Kearney, had taken to cycling and his enthusiasm for the sport motivated me to give it a try. At that time in life, my job didn’t require any physical activity. I needed to find some form of exercise my knees could handle. Cycling seemed to fit the bill.
I hadn’t ridden a bike any distance to speak of since my pre-driving days. I’m not sure what happened to my bikes once I hit sixteen. At the time I didn’t care. I had wheels that didn’t require pedaling, the kind that made you cool, a person to be admired, and, most importantly, a guy who could take a girl on a date. By the time I hit 42, I had given up on being cool or admired and my wife didn’t think dating should be one of my life goals.
If I was going to be a cyclist, I was going to have to buy a bike. I wasn’t sure if I was going to like cycling. So, I wanted to keep costs low. It seemed silly to buy an expensive bike if it was just going to end up suspended on a hook in the garage gathering dust and rust. Jason, my friend, had already warned me about the foolishness of buying a department store bike. So I did the only other thing I could think of. I bought a bike on eBay.
When the box arrived on my front porch courtesy of UPS, I was excited to get it out and give it a try. Upon opening the box, I felt a twinge of disappointment. I had the same kind of thoughts a man must have when he receives his mail-order bride: “She doesn’t look near as good in person as she did in the pictures.” The bike was purple with some kind of French name like de jour imprinted on the down tube. Still, what did I expect for my $69.00 winning bid? The fact that only two other geniuses bid on it should have been a neon flashing sign.
Well, rather than have a pity party, I simply lowered my expectations as to what kind of bike could be purchased for less than $70, put the bike together, and took it for a test ride. I pedaled and it moved. What else is necessary?
The next day I called Jason to tell him I was now officially a cyclist. After all, the proper definition of a cyclist is “a person who rides a bicycle.” That is when Jason challenged me. It wasn’t fair. Jason knows I have a psychological illness. Something inside of me can’t just enjoy an activity for the simple pleasure of doing it. I’ve got to make a competition out of it. I can’t just shoot hoops in the driveway. I have to keep score. I can’t just jog. I have to run a 10K. I can’t just wrestle with my sons. I’ve got to pin them to the ground and pinch them until they cry, “Uncle!” Jason took advantage of this internal weakness and dared me to ride the “Freewheel.”
“Freewheel” was an annual bike ride that traversed the state of Oklahoma. (It went away a couple of years ago, but there is a rumor it is being revived). Every year the route changed, but it generally started in Texas and ended in Kansas. It was a week-long event taking place in June with hundreds of participants.
“What do I need to do to get involved?” I asked. Jason’s main advice was, “Put in a lot of miles on the bike before “Freewheel” so you will be in shape for it.” It sounded like good advice and the “Freewheel” organization had training rides every Saturday open to anyone who wanted to join in.
Not wanting to go it alone, I talked my youngest son, David, into joining me on the adventure. Being his father’s son, he couldn’t resist the challenge. So, we began riding together in the evenings and going on the training rides on Saturday mornings.
We joined the Freewheel training rides after they had already been going on for several weeks. The first week was only a few miles. The mileage doubled every week and kept increasing until the rides were around 70 to 80 miles. We skipped over the baby steps of the first few weeks and jumped right into a 60-mile ride.
When we pulled into the parking lot in north Tulsa where the training ride began, I had a gut feeling I was in trouble.
