This isn’t a story of epic proportions. It isn’t about how
many miles biked, how many extreme weather conditions endured or how many miles
climbed. It is about an average person riding an average bike and trying to
make sense about what drives her to keep pedaling. There are certainly many
reasons to stop. The disappointed tone in her mother’s voice when she tells
her, “yes, mom, I’m going to be bringing my bike home again for Christmas” and
her mother replies, “oh honey, you’re not going to do that silly biking
challenge again, are you?” The alarm going off at 6am every morning during a
rare week off from work at the hospital and dragging a tired body out from
underneath the warm blankets. The constant worry that every dark patch on the
road is black ice that will send her back wheel flying and her face into the
unforgiving asphalt. The unspoken pressure applied by parents and family to be
around to eat meals and play games together and not to be off cycling alone.
But the trouble is, there is meaning to what she does, to
what draws her to the bike and solitary winter Connecticut roads. The rhythmic
churning of legs, lungs and beating heart together. The feeling of the frosty wind
across her face. There is a solace in the solo hours alone at dawn. The world is
awakening for a new day and awakening a new sense of purpose in her soul. There
comes with long hours alone an acceptance. An acceptance of the head wind that
blows her backwards, an acceptance of the pain that comes with pushing up
hills, an acceptance of the slow deliberate process of moving forward and
checking off the miles. It’s a daily meditation. A resetting of stress and
energy. It’s the one part of the day she has to let go of learning how to be a
doctor and instead to think only about the road ahead.
Her dad is sitting in the living room watching a PBS special
on Shackleton. They are recounting the story of how he and his crew became
stranded on Elephant Island near the South Pole after their ship was crushed by
ice and then had to make a daring open ocean crossing in a small sailboat to
South Georgia to get rescued. Those were the days of true explorers, enduring
the harshest of conditions, having the chance to stare death in the face and
live to tell the tale. There is such a lack of adventure in the mundane life of
constant work and studying. What does it mean to be alive when you spend your
days enclosed within sterile walls, feeling the weight of the stethoscope
around your neck like a yoke, driving home in a car, falling asleep in a heated
house and repeating it again and again and again? She craves to break free from
the monotonous routine. She craves to experience in any small way the same journey
that those early explorers sought. To push herself beyond what she thought her
body was capable of, to feel the icy wind against her face and do battle
against it, to ride and discover new backcountry roads, to find herself
completely broken mentally and physically, down to the raw essentials of being,
and then learn how to build herself back up.
The bike is what makes her feel like she exists in the
world; a living, breathing part of it. There is wildness in the descents, a
sense of child-like playfulness in the trails, incredible views to take in from
the top of hills, the feeling of flying along flat straightaways. Heart
pumping, lungs sucking in air, arms pulling, muscles searing in pain. A sense
of feeling strong, powerful, in complete control of body and machine. Numb
fingers and toes, wind burned cheeks, drenched in sweat and rain. How many people
get to experience that in their lifetime?
The thing her parents don’t understand is that she is not
riding to escape. She is riding to be more present. There is more gratitude and
gratefulness after suffering and pain. Sharing a warm cup of coffee on a couch
with cousins is the best thing on earth after being alone for hours on the
bike. A home cooked meal tastes ten times more delicious after a 40 mile ride
in below freezing temperatures, and yes, she would love seconds. Going for walk
in the woods and watching the dogs run through the snow seems like such a
peaceful way to enjoy a windy afternoon.
And so, she rides on through the wintery scenery, a lonely
bike against snow covered pines. There is nothing extraordinary about it, but
there is a deeper meaning in what she does. She puts herself out there day
after day to experience the world, to meditate, to test herself, to find the
adventure in the routine, to satisfy a deep yearning to live and most of all to
understand what it feels like to truly be alive.
