St. Nick's Hick Ride 2017

"Every new friend is an adventure...

the start of new memories."

Patrick Lindsay 

I can't decide whether to do this ride or not.  There is a ride in Madison I spot on Facebook that sounds enticing:  "St. Nick's Hick Ride."  It is on the "Born to Roam" Facebook page.  According to what it says, you can ride if you bring canned goods.  The ride is supposed to be a combination of pavement, gravel, and single track.  I click the "interested" button and decide to think about it.  To go or not to go, that is the question.

Essentially, I am a road biker.  I have a mountain bike, but I normally use it when it snows so I can get out on the roads.  I came into riding in my middle years, and I have never really done "mountain biking" per say.  While he was still alive, my husband urged me to, said he thought I would be good at it (though how he would know never having done it before who knows), but it just never seemed to fit in with where I was at.  I remember Phil Patterson asking me if I could jump curbs when we were discussing mountain biking, and telling him no and later wondering why I had not just said I had never tried because I had not. And I still have not tried it.  The thought of re-injuring either shoulder does not appeal to me.  And it is cold outside.  Yes, I have done an entire century at 10 degrees, but I was younger then, more foolhardy.  There are all sorts of reasons to change my mind, but I dare myself.

The ride description recommends wide tires and I contemplate taking my mountain bike, but I have it fixed up for Diana who is going to use it to ride the "Lights Under Louisville" ride later that same day.  I have switched out the pedals for flat pedals since she does not do clipless pedals, so when I see the ride description, I decide to take the Surly Straggler.  It has wider wheels and can take rougher treatment than my road bike. I almost don't go because I have already committed to the afternoon ride with Diana and have to be back, but Rich, the organizer, assures me on line that the ride will end no later than 12:30.  Despite worries about the cold, the pace, not knowing any of the riders, and the terrain and if I can handle it, I go.  I guess they won't shoot me if I have to turn around or can't keep up. And f I fall, well, I never have to face them again.

I arrive early and find the ride start, canned goods in a bag.  I like this about the ride, the ride fee of can donations for the needy.  Rich's wife takes the canned goods and is very welcoming.  People that care about other people, about those less fortunate, are some of my favorite people in this world because it is so easy to not care. Everyone is welcoming, but still I can tell this is a group that rides together regularly, that has forged bonds, and I am not sure if I can or will fit in.  As those of you who know me know:  I do not like to be a burden or an inconvenience. And as so often happens, brevets, distance rides, I am apparently the only female riding today.

Yet again I am amazed at how love of the bike can merge diverse groups of people. Gender, income, age, race, all fade away as insignificant and I think how God must love a bicycle because of this. The pace is easy and nobody seems to mind, there are mainly new roads, and the scenery is engaging. People climb at their own pace and then wait at the top, patiently, without resentment. As the ride progresses, personalities begin to emerge, and I find I am beginning to smile.  This smile will eventually turn into laughter at some of the youthful exuberance that has seeped into the ride that will continue to stay with me for a few days.  For the first time in a long time, I wake myself up in the middle of the night following a ride actually laughing, and it feels wonderful.   As an added bonus, not too long after the ride starts, it begins to snow and slowly the roads turn white.  Unlike my snow rides on a road bike, the Surly handles the snow just fine and I am overcome by the beauty,  particularly while we are in the state park.  What a fine day it is to be out on a bicycle despite the cold.  How glad I am that I came.  How thankful I am to Rich and the others for their acceptance of a stranger in their midst.

The trees are bare now, stark sentinels, arms reaching skyward, outlined by wispy bits of snow that are starting to cling but still ephemeral, pleading for their covering as Adam and Eve in the garden following their sin.  Perhaps they stand as a reminder.  There is beauty in their nakedness, but yet they seem not comfortable with it.  The wind is light and kind. The whiteness emphasizes the lack of color in the world.

As we descend from the state park into Madison, we ride a bit of what I think is called "single track."  I am able to handle it, it does not seem to be very technical, but the rear wheel on my bike is not and ends up rubbing and I do fall behind.  I find them waiting, but again I don't sense impatience or the feeling that they wish I had not joined them.  Instead, I am met with smiles and stories and a magnificent view and I am appreciative of their kindness.  I debate whether to stop and fix it, and decide that with the car so near I will not.  Only when stopped by a stop light do I realize how badly it is rubbing.  I can barely push the bike.  My legs are strong enough to make it go, but not my arms.  The car appears in front of me and it is over.  A lovely time, but due to meeting Diana I cannot join them for lunch.  Perhaps this is best as I always find it easier to talk and to meet new people on a bicycle rather than sitting at a table somewhere.

I am grateful.  Grateful for new friends, ones who are kind and make me laugh, grateful for my health, grateful for the snow that brightens the scenery and seems so Christmas-like, grateful for a new memory and a new riding experience.  This next week will be a difficult one one for me as it holds the day I lost the best part of myself, the stroke, the dying, the knowing that I could not save him, that it was time for him to go home and that I would be alone in a way I had not for so very long, but I also know that I will survive, that he wants me to, and that I can have fun and even laugh until my sides hurt knowing he is happy to see me smile as he patiently waits for me.  And I am again grateful for that first bike, the one he gave me when he was worried I was running too much.  Somehow I think he knew, even then, that it would help me find my way.  It has, indeed, been an adventure.