Flat Pedals

Monday, September 22, 2008

A lot has happened in the last 2 weeks. I’m terrified. Back in June I threw up my hands in regard to school and I said to God ”If this is the way you want me to go then you are going to have to make it evident because I’m deaf and blind and I don’t know what to do.” As a result it seems that all the roadblocks to school are frickin dissolving before my very eyes. It doesn’t seem to matter what the particular hindrance is. A caseworker that is not advocating, an inability to type, or not being able to afford gas, they’re all dissolving just the same. I was particularly focused on the next wave of present imaginary problems. Reliable transportation. To distract my self I went to a class at church. It was called Rhyming with Orange. The class is about sparking the creative thinking process, and the habits of creative thinking people. It doesn’t much matter what your creation or endeavor is. It could be art, writing, starting a business or developing the courage to bomb down a hill on single track in the dark. It’s about the process. We were taught about how our environment and community impact our ability to succeed. It’s important to be influenced by people who believe you can do it, whatever “it” is. Sitting there listening I received a message on how this impacts more than just the creative process. It impacts the heart.

The instructor held a demonstration. Two volunteers went into the hallway. They would be assigned a task. The only clues we could give would be to cheer or boo. Like we used to play Hot and Cold when I was a kid. The instructor put a marker on top of one of the speakers. Locating the marker was Donna’s task. When she entered the room he told her she had a task. Nothing more. He said we would cheer or boo to indicate if she was making progress on completing the task. Donna located the marker on our cheers and boos alone in less than a minute and a half. Sue was given the same instruction when she came in. The only difference in our instruction was that we were only aloud to boo. That’s it. No cheering. Sue started out excited to meet the challenge, but after several minutes of constant booing even when she was close to accomplishing her task, she turned to the group threw up her hands and said “I have absolutely no idea what I am supposed to do?” I saw. I heard. That was me. That was my daughter. That was my son. I understood. I almost had to leave the room. I haven’t known what to do much of my life. I’ve always done the wrong thing because of it. No direction just floundering. A lifetime of knee jerk emotional reactions to the crap life has thrown at me has brought me to this. Thirty-nine years old, alone, uneducated with a potentially progressive chronic illness under this seemingly healthy exterior. The only thing I have left to do is ask, “What do you want me to do next?”

It would seem that I was the only one who had such an emotional reaction to this simple demonstration. I really didn’t learn anything that night that I don’t already know cognitively. It’s the difference between knowing that 8 is the answer to 4+4 and knowing how 8 is the answer. I sat through the rest of the class choking back the tears because I also understood the difference between my life now and my life a year ago. Encouragement and a bicycle. Nothing more. In some strange hocus pocus kind of way whenever I have received encouragement from someone about mountain biking it has transcended itself into every other area of my life. The basic principles of riding single track seem to apply everywhere. Another reason why my panties get in a bunch when my bike isn’t functioning properly. My bike and myself are on the injured list as I sit here typing. This is the story.

My friend Nate asked me if I wanted to go for a night ride. We meet at the trailhead at dusk. Donning our spelunking attire we head out on the first loop. That sensation that we are being watched creeps upon me. I dare to glance away from the trail and I can see their eyes glinting back at me. The boogey men of the single-track night. Shadows cast changing the trails terrain. Familiar but new at the same time. Like an old friend that you haven’t seen in years. After a few miles the comfort of the ride settles in. Eyes have adjusted to the darkness and we start chit chatting. Nate happens to mention someone that we both know. My attention wanders because of this as we descend upon the down hill root wall. Endo. Handlebar in chest. Face plant. Nate checks my teeth with his light. It’s all good. I get up and get back on my bike but my left foot won’t clip into the pedal. At the top of the hill we look at it. I’ve blown out the bottom of my sole. I was grateful that I wasn’t paralyzed and my teeth were still good but at that moment when I saw my cleat still clipped into my pedal and a hole in the bottom of my shoe I did a mental death spiral. In my imagination I had to sell my Ice Man entry because I don’t have any cold weather gear especially now that I can't afford new shoes and I’ll have to back out of school because there is no way I’ll be able to do any of this if I can’t ride my bike and I can’t ride my bike if my shoe is blown out and I can’t afford new shoes because I have to pay a speeding ticket and if I don’t pay my speeding ticket then I’ll lose my driving privileges and if I lose my driving privileges I’ll have to ride my bike that I can’t ride because the shoe is blown out so I’ll have to use flat pedals and that makes as much sense as getting back together with my ex-boyfriend and the thought of this makes me want to throw up.

Thank God for friends who are willing to extend a hand of encouragement into the pit and pull me out. Double D told me to go to the shop I bought them from. Trout Smith told me I would find away. Speedy reminded me of how good my life is. The Jode offered to give me a pair of her shoes. 1 Guy 1 Gear told me I have nice legs and Kristina told me I’d be back to work on Monday telling some phenomenal story equivalent to red dragonflies and owls and how God provided what I needed. Like wings their words carried me out of my despair to the land of milk and honey once again. My new shoes will be here by the end of the week and I don’t have to get back with my ex-boyfriend.

In the mean time I’m going crazy because I haven’t been on my bike. I broke down yesterday and had my friend Thomas put on the flat pedals. I was going to go to Yankee but I thought perhaps I should test them out first. It was exactly like I imagine getting back with my ex would be. A waste of time, energy and unexpectedly painful. Literally. I felt a pop in the sore spot on my chest where I impaled myself the other night. Ouch! My feet wouldn’t stay connected on the upstroke. They would bounce off at the slightest bump and I wondered how I ever survived without my pedals and shoes before. That got me thinking about my life before I was aware that God cares. I was once again reminded of the importance of staying connected with Him and the people He has brought into my life. This is how my bike talks to me. It's a language that I can understand. It reconnects my head with my heart, God Almighty, and to you, my encouragers who cheer me on toward the marker on the speaker. My salvation truly is a group effort.

That being said; both adjustment knobs are broken on my fork and if I can’t adjust my fork then I can’t……. Okay God, what do you want me to do next?