A Century Ride as the Winter Solstice Approaches

"We cannot stop the winter

or summer from coming.  We

cannot stop the spring or fall or

make them other than they are. 

They are gifts from the universe

we cannot refuse. But we can 

choose what we will contribute to

life when each arrives."

Gary Zukhav

 

I must confess,  I have very mixed feelings when I decide to ride a century in December, a month when I normally did a minimum of two centuries just a few years ago:  my Christmas breakfast century whose route varied and Bethlehem whose route did not vary.  I was younger then, and stronger.  I had a pretty close knit group that would always attend. But it is time to go on.  Even past time.  I grow weak.  A weather and route weenie.  And it is not supposed to be so very cold today and the wind is not supposed to be so very wild.  So out the door I go praying that the weather does not overly beat me up.  I know I will hurt by the end.  That is the price of admission when one has not ridden a century for a bit.  But rather than paying at the door, I know I will pay at the end.  I just hope it is not too ugly.

Since December of 2014, I have lost my husband, two brothers, my mother, my sister, and a nephew.  If there is one thing age and loss have taught me is that time on this earth is limited and should not be wasted.  Which is not to say that I don't still waste time, but it is at least conscious wastefulness, and today will not be a waste.  A century ride is never a waste.  And if you don't use your body the saying is true, you truly do lose it.  Additionally, age makes it harder to get it back.  Better just to persevere until the time comes to hang the bicycle on the wall for good.  And adventure may await.  One never quite knows what to expect from a long ride.

 

The morning is gloomy with nary a hint of sunshine though the forecasters said the sun might peek through this afternoon.  I sincerely hope so for there has not been one ray for what seems like an eternity.  At least the temperature has been mellow for this time of year.  And at least some of my obligations and worries are coming to an end.  But I long to bathe in the sun despite the fact his power has waned and lacks the heat he has in summer.

 

Jon agrees to ride with me so we meet at the ride start in Madison and head out both worrying a bit about how we are dressed.  As it turns out, we are both fine though I am a tad overdressed.  I have already asked him to agree not to linger at stops.  Winter riding is not so very hard with the appropriate clothing so long as the distance is short and no stops are necessary.  To me, one of the hardest things about winter century rides are the necessity of stops.  Inevitably, within a short time I begin to chill.  To try to prevent this today, I unzip my jacket well before stops allowing the wind to reach inside my warm outer shell and dispel some of the inevitable dampness that builds during exercise.  It helps, but does not eliminate the discomfort completely.  I remember one cold brevet where another rider was upset that I left the control so quickly saying he wanted to ride with me, but my body had begun shivering involuntarily to the point where if I didn't leave, I was unsure if I would be able to keep the bike upright.   Just another reminder that in the end, however much I like to feel in control of things, I truly am not.  Even my own body has demands and needs that I cannot control.

The route we are riding does not have a first store stop so we stop rather late at a park.  The picnic table has collapsed and slants downward, but we manage to sit for a few moments and eat what we have brought.  Jon has a Cliff bar I think and I have a half whole wheat p and j sandwich.  It tastes wonderful and I need it, but I am glad we move on quickly.  I briefly think of the times we have tarried there on this route, luxuriating in the finer weather.  Today is not, however, such a day.

We have decided to eschew the traditional Subway lunch stop as it is so early in the ride and not a favorite of mine anyway.  We go quite some distance further to a coffee shop we both know that also has sandwiches.  But on our way we face a long, rather boring stretch that is, as normal, into the wind.  Though the wind is not inordinately strong, it is strong enough that I struggle and the scenery here is repetitive, not helping anything.  We have reached the point in the ride where conversation is sparse and scattered.  Jon rides just a bit ahead, stopping to wait at times as I fall behind. Barren field after barren field waiting patiently for spring and planting time.  Lush greenness is a vague memory.  The world seems sepia colored other than the occasional yard that we pass that has Christmas decorations outside.  

 

Decorations bring to mind that it is not too long before the children will visit for the holiday, and I set my  mind yet again to determining the menu trying to plan for vegetarians and young children that are not the adventurous eaters that my daughter was when young.  I quite enjoy it but it makes me hungry and I realize I will be VERY glad to hit the lunch stop.

 

Lunch is delicious and does not take overly long as I worry not only about chilling but about getting in before dark.  I brought lights just in case, but I don't like to be on busier roads when the light has faded.  Odd because night riding was one of my favorite things about brevets, but only when we were out on side, lightly traveled roads.  Even during those years, I worried when there were lots of cars.  

 

After lunch we get a good chuckle when a group of children come to the side of the road hailing and cheering us.  One yells, "Do you like ketchup and mustard?"  It takes me a moment before I realize it is a reference to our jackets.  Jon is dressed in a red jacket and I have on my yellow jacket.  I  think how refreshing it is to actually see children outside in the yard doing something rather than inside the house watching television or playing video games.  Perhaps I remember incorrectly, but I remember being outside most of the time when I was not being tortured in school.  Not that I didn't like school or the other children or the teachers or reading.  I adored reading.  But I did not like the sitting required and being trapped inside, particularly on lovely days when the earth just seemed to abound with things to do and places to explore.   

Sometimes the last miles of a century, particularly when one has been lazy, can be  more a death march than a pleasure, but despite my being out of shape, it is not so today.  I am tired, pleasantly tired, and I am as stiff, but I know I could go further, easier anymore than going faster for sure.  We are in before dark with some minutes to spare.  I would not chose a winter day as my favorite for riding, but I am glad that I did choose to ride and make use of the day and my body, to appreciate the starkness of the trees against the gray sky, to almost laugh out loud with excitement when a few rays of sun do happen to break through the ponderous gloom that has settled on the earth recently.  Yeah, it was a good day.  And I realize yet again that I am blessed. 

 

 

 

 

 

A Failed Century

"Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes.

Don't resist them; that only creates sorrow.  Let reality

be reality.  Let things flow naturally forward in whatever

form they like." 
Lao Tsu

A few weeks ago, when it became apparent that my mother was not going to recover this time, I took a leave from work and moved to the Northern Kentucky area to move her home.  Working with Hospice, I brought her back to her own home and helped her die.  For close to two weeks, I did not get over one hours worth of sleep at a time.  As the sleep deprivation began to take hold  I could not help but think that this was much more difficult than a brevet, but that brevets prepared me as well as anything could for the sleep deprivation aspect.  Perhaps a weird thought to have in the midst of caring for the person who is responsible for your being here and who you love, but one I had nevertheless.

During the time I cared for her, there was no bicycling, no running, no physical activity other than the demands of changing her and meeting her needs.  She died last Thursday, surrounded by family, holding my hand, as we talked about memories that centered around her.  By we I mean the family members present.  For two days prior to her passing, mom was completely uncommunicative.  Prior to that, she still had some verbal abilities, however limited.  I had forgotten how drained one gets dealing with death, as if the life inside was sucked out as if offered in exchange for a few more moments.  At 99, it was time for her to move on since age had brought a loss of the delight of being alive and was a chore rather than a joy, a burden that she longed to put down.  But still I had forgotten the total exhaustion, both mental and physical that follows significant loss, the feeling of helplessness at the inability to change things and to make them better.  And selfishly, there was a part of me that wanted her to get better, to be around for just a bit longer. So perhaps I should not be surprised at my failure today.  I sent out to do a century ride and threw in the towel at 67 miles.  

Mentally, it took all I had to force myself out the door.  I honestly did not want to ride.  No, it was not that cold.  It was around 40 degrees.  No, it was not that windy:  7 to 8 mph.  It is just that feeling that I did not want to ride which would be fine if there was something that I wanted to do, but there was not an one can only sleep for so long.  Perhaps if it had been sunny?  I doubt it, but perhaps.

The first thing I notice are all the cinders on the roads.  I had forgotten we had ice.  In the country and in a poor county with little money, salt is scarce, so country roads are covered with cinders.  This is not a problem for cars, but bicycle tires are a different story.  The cinders contain sharp little black pieces that lodge themselves in your tire are are camouflaged by their very color.  So when the cinders were thick, I stop to wipe my tires thus noting that my rear tire is long past the time when it needs to be changed.  I have a spare tire that I carry with me, it is a rear tire, and I have no long, thrilling descents on today's route so I decide to move forward and risk getting a flat.  Good decision on this occasion as I make it home with no incident.  While it is not so cold that changing a flat would be a huge issue, it is cold enough that I know my hands would be uncomfortable.  Tires become unforgiving in the winter, hard and less than pliable.

The recent rains have flooded most of the easier routes, so I am heading toward Vernon.  I don't make it there, but I still get in close to 70 miles.  It is a dog day.  In that 70 miles I swear I must encounter 70 dogs.  None of them are vicious or appear to mean business.  They are just doing what dogs do:  alerting owners that someone is passing by.  Water stands in fields and on places in the road, the ground so saturated that it has no place to go,  and I realize that if I do a century, I am going to have to make some changes to my traditional route.  I can't say that I am miserable, but I can't really say that I am enjoying myself so at the first store stop, a bit over 30 miles in, I decide to get something to eat and just ride home.

This is more of a "thinking" ride than a ride where I thrill at the world God gave to us.  I think about how fortunate I was with my husband that there were very few unresolved issues, and how I wish I could say the same with my mother.  I think about the difficulties I encountered writing the obituary, and how it made clear to me that I knew mother less well than I knew my husband, and how I wish my brother had not asked me to write it.  I think about my own end and what I can do to make things easier for my children.  I think about changes and about life is all about changes and how difficult it is to accept those changes and flow smoothly forward safe in the knowledge that good things are waiting right around the corner, that there will be more bad things, but that we develop the strength to deal with those things through past adversity.

The end of the ride comes and I remain depleted.  Still having walked a similar path in the past, I know this is the direction I need to head in.  I know I am doing okay if I can make myself get out the door.  And I know that eventually I will complete a century again. 

"Motherhood: All love begins and ends there."
Robert Browning



Victoria Francis Smith, the daughter of Richard Martin Perry and Norah Blanche Perry, age 99, passed away on January 19th, 2017. She was preceded in death by her three brothers and three sisters: Ralph Perry, Kenneth Perry, Victor Perry, Gladys Perry, Mary Perry, and Sara Ashcraft.

Victoria grew up to marry Dr. Robert Charles Smith and put him through medical school while working at the American Book Company. She enjoyed playing golf, was an avid Bridge player, was a Scrabble fan, and was known for her wry sense of humor and her ladylike ways. After the children got older, she worked in the EEG department at St. Elizabeth's and St. Luke's hospitals and was later employed by the Covington Boys Club, Krogers, and then Kings Island. She retired from Kings Island in her eighties where her co-workers lovingly called her "The Walking Dictionary." Her favorite story of her time at the Boys Club was when she walked in to find a snake the children placed in her desk drawer. She said she knew that if she screamed or reacted, there would be a snake there every day, so she forced herself to calmly pick the snake up, take it outside, and let it go.

She leaves behind five children: Victor R. Smith of Cincinnati, Ohio, Robert Christopher Smith of Cincinnati, Ohio, Marc T. Smith of West Chester, Ohio, Pamela A. Reed of Covington, Kentucky & Melissa F. Hall of Scottsburg, Indiana and daughters-in-law, Karen & Christina Smith. She also leaves behind numerous, much loved grandchildren: Charles Reed, Christopher Reed, Dian Reed, Emily Smith, Derek Smith, Lauren Smith, Ashley Smith, T.J. Corcoran, Natalie Corcoran, Justin Smith, Mary-Victoria "Tiffany" Hall, Jeffrey Hall, and Elena Hall. Additionally, there are eight great-grandchilden: Meghan, Quinn, Aidan, Ronan, Caitlin, and Keelan Corcoran, Caroline and Ian Smith

The service will be for family only and will be after her ashes are released by the University of Cincinnati where she donated her body in the hopes that knowledge could be gained that would help others to live better, healthier lives in the future. In lieu of flowers, the family requests that donations be made in her name to The Covington Boys and Girls Club, Boys and Girls Club of Greater Cincinnati, 600 Dalton Avenue, Cincinnati, Ohio 45203,

The Last Dog Standing: A GOAL

"It sucks that we miss people like that. You think you've

accepted that someone is out of your life, that you've grieved 

and its over, and then bam.   One little thing, and you feel like

you've lost that person all over again."  Rachel Hawkins

It has been a difficult week, Father's Day with my birthday following on its heels.  I thought I was doing well, that I was doing better, that I had accepted that he is gone and was ready to move on, and then here come the special days we used to share.  Memories cluster around those days,  and then on top of it all I dream of him. It is SO good to see him and to be whole yet again I think over and over again, and then with consciousness and the daylight he is gone and my heart shatters and cries, "alone.....alone."

  The weather has not helped, hot, windy, muggy, and often filled with jagged streaks of lightening and loud cracks of thunder, threatening, keeping me penned in from my bicycle or requiring a bravery I no longer seem to find within myself.    I think of the exhilaration I used to find in facing the elements. Now I cower indoors. Even in the little fine weather we have been blessed with,  it is more difficult to drag myself out the door, but when the wind is howling and lightening flashing, I do not even consider it.  I find my bike is not bringing me the pleasure and solace it once did, and on the way to the ride today, I consider whether it is time to quit riding. 

I do not want to ride today. I did not want to ride the last century, and at the end was not glad that I rode, merely glad that I forced myself out the door. Rain mists the air during the drive and the heat has been broken, but there is nothing in me that wants to move, that desires company or exercise.  I accept that I am weak and wonder if my strength and bravery was entirely linked to his being.  I am not sure that I like this sniveling, pity filled, coward, this me that has emerged.  I like to think of myself as stronger, more self sufficient, but then it is the trials we face that show us what we are made of, and I appear to be made of mush. My movements are forced and puppet like.  I have lost my smile.

 I can no longer keep up with friends.  You can't put on weight as I have done and not ride and expect to do so, and you cannot expect people to slow down for you. Many of the friends I have made bicycling through the years no longer ride.  And meeting new people can be just so hard.  Seems like I always say or do something stupid.   How I miss having someone I can share thoughts and words with, that helps me sift through those thoughts and words to find what what is meaningful.  How I miss being totally at ease with someone.

But I suppose that as long as I can force myself, I will continue to ride, at least to the rides that have courses I like.  Since I don't really ride for training purposes, I have no interest in courses that have lots of traffic and not much in the way of scenery.  I don't begrudge those who ride only for training purposes, but I do pity them. Yet in the past, I have done some of the same myself.

Today I must ride as fast as I can because my son and his wife are coming for a visit to go through some of his father's things and there are linens to be changed and housework to be done.  I remember how Lloyd once told me that I like things to be perfect for holidays and special occasions, and I realize it is true.  I will have the house clean and small treats:  new magazines on the bed, toiletries, small treats, those things that tell them both that I treasure them and want them to be comfortable during their stay.

Soon Kirk has given the pre-ride speech and we are on our way.  It is a larger group than I expected, so very many of them new and unknown.  The majority of the roads we will ride today are familiar to me, like old friends.  This is a comfort since I have no GPS file and I have no idea if I will end up riding alone or with a group. 

We pass a pond where white water lilies are starting to bloom, and the beauty gives me pause. Were I alone, I would stop and take a picture. I briefly catch up on some gossip with an old friend, but I know I cannot continue to keep this pace.  He is going slower than he would like and needs to go for training purposes, and I am going faster than I should be going if I hope to finish without significant discomfort and possibly bonking.  I remember the last time I rode this course with Mark and how I dragged in behind his wheel, the hills having taken their toll.  It is not that there are really any significant climbs, none of those climbs where you wonder if your legs and strength will betray you and you will stop and walk or fall over and melt into the pavement, but they are fairly constant. And hills are where weight gain plagues  you the most. Pace, pace, pace....all  important in distance riding. 

And soon I am on my own, only to be picked back up by a group behind me.  I enjoy hearing Tony's tale of finishing his first 600K.  Another of the riders is one of the last four dogs standing having completed each year of the Tour de Mad Dog since its beginning in 2004.    I briefly tease him telling him my goal is to be the last dog standing, despite the fact I am the oldest of the four by quite a few years.  And I realize that this may be a goal to hold onto, obtainable or not:  "Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, or whats a heaven for."  (Robert Browning).  So long as I can keep that goal, perhaps I can continue forcing myself out the door, and perhaps one day the beauty that is all around us will seep into my soul again, and I will once again fall in love with bicycling that for now is merely a means of staying afloat.