stories on the eve of a new year

every morning on my way to class I pass a cyclist on the road.
he wears a backpack, has a bright headlight and a flashing rear light, and is out there at 4:55 a.m.
snow, ice, cold, fair weather:  he's there.
after we pass I watch him, in my rear view mirror, turn up a road that leads to the university of utah medical school, so I've made up a story that he's a dedicated student, a starving student, a student too poor to handle the expenses of a car.
I may be completely wrong:  he could just be a conservationist, all about keeping a small carbon footprint.
or maybe he's recovering from a devastating illness and believes the cycling is an important part of his healing process.
or maybe he just loves fresh air, knowing he'll be trapped in a building for the next ten hours.

probably, his story is nowhere near anything I've just written.

people have stories.  and behind them are the motivations, desires, dreams, compulsions, inspirations, incentives, all the forces that determine behavior.
the fifteen of us sitting on spin bikes this morning at 5:15 all walked in for different reasons and approached our efforts in different ways.
I might say I ride hard so I can eat more, but it's also about self-esteem, self-belief, a physical connection with my body, self-empowerment, adrenaline.  and likely, other motivations I myself might not even recognize.  I can only guess at the motivations behind the actions of the others in that room.

I love people's stories.  there's a local man who rides a bike on many of the same roads I do ~ I've seen him numerous times over the past 18 months or so.  the first time, he was coming down Big Mountain, quickly, as I was laboriously pedaling up, slowly.  I gave a finger wave and he returned it, and as soon as he was past me the picture in my brain told me he only had one leg.
yeah, right.
it's difficult to see someone who's passing you at 38 mph, and easy to assume you saw something you didn't.
the next time I saw him I realized the picture in my brain was accurate:  he has but one leg.
I've seen him a few dozen times now, and each time I am both awed and empowered.  this man is large-as-life proof that we have within us what's needed to overcome anything.  anything.
I don't know him at all, but he is a man with a story.
I want to know his story; I want to write his story.
not the details, not the surface of it, but the guts, the innerworkings.  the things that made him get on a bike and teach himself to pedal with only half of the team most of us have working for us.  to learn to stop and dismount, to get back on and go.
to push up steep hills, to risk fast descents.
something within this man has helped him be stronger and tougher than most anyone I know.

I don't know his motivations, and I'm not going to make them up, other than to acknowledge that something deeply powerful helped this man learn to ride when he had the option to not.

everyone has a story.
and the best stories aren't those that conclude in haste or with nothing but smiles all around.  the best stories have some grit, some pain, a bit of loss, a bunch of growth.
as we move into a new year, I wish for us all a deepening of our own stories, an appreciation of the stories that belong to others, and a continued curiosity of what's around the next bend.

cotton eye joe

I love stories.
and I am curious.
and my mind is always going, pondering, conjecturing, creating, supposing.



I have two daughters learning how to drive.
this allows for many great conversations, as well as observations of those who drive... well, we'll just say less well than others.
the other day someone sped past us at a good twenty miles over the speed limit, changing lanes constantly (and without blinkers) to find the fastest path.
"geez, what a stupid driver," my daughter said.
"I like to think there's a reason for that," I replied, "like his wife's in labor in the back seat and he's got to get her to the hospital."
"oh, right. or, he's just a stupid driver."

I like to make up stories that paint us all in the best light.
except not always when I'm biking.

here's the thing about biking: when you pass a cyclist---or get passed by a cyclist---you have no idea where they're coming from, where they're going, how long they've been riding, where they started, when they'll end, none of it.
you can guess by looking at how many water bottles they have, what they're wearing, and how much (and what) stuff is in their back pockets, but it's always conjecture.
you can't know.
so . . . you can't say
"oh, they're going so fast because they just started/they're doing sprints/they're almost home."
or
"they're going so slow because they've been out for five hours already and they're just finishing up."
or
"they probably got a ride to the middle of the hill so they could make it to the top without dying."
and on and on.

I can still make up stories---it's hard to make me stop---but I can't know if someone is on their first 5 miles or their last 5, if they're halfway through a seven-hour grind or halfway through a one-hour spin.
maybe it's a recovery day, and that's why they're going so slowly.
maybe they're doing sprints, and that's why they're inconsistent.
maybe they're having a great day, maybe it's a crappy day.
I can't know.

now the big ah-ha:
all of life is like this.

we can't know where someone has come from, where they're going, if it's a great day, if it's a cruddy one, if they're focused on a goal, if their mind is a hundred miles away. everyone out there is a cotton eye joe.
the best thing we can do is wish them well along their journey, offer them a little prayer of Godspeed, and dance, anyway.

okay, but back to me

I write about me a lot, don't I?
I'm really not as egocentric as it might appear, though I do love to tell stories and ~ go figure ~ they usually include me as the protagonist. I could just go around telling stories about other people, but those tend to either fall into the gossip category, or the "but it's not my story to tell" category.
but here's one that I feel safe relaying, because this particular protagonist has already put it out there for the world to see, read, and know on his own blog, www.fatcyclist.com.

I don't recall the story of how I found his blog, but I do remember seeing Fat Cyclist jerseys on my first lotoja ride, almost 2 years ago. the Fat Cyclist logo is a clydesdale, which is a pretty distinctive mascot to have on a cycling jersey. not to mention that one of the jerseys was pink. this is not your typical team cycling jersey. (though I did see an awesome beer-themed cycling jersey at the MS ride last year, and I've been racking my brain to try to recall the motto: something clever about riding and then drinking. if you know this, please share!)

it was some time later before I found the Fat Cyclist blog, and discovered that I was about the 10 millionth person to do so. I won't go on and on here, as I've done this before and it's just as easy for you to go to his site and pick up the history firsthand. suffice to say that he's clever, verbose, funny, committed, and currently in a world of hurt.
his wife has been battling cancer, and its grip has tightened and been squeezing this family more and more mercilessly over the last little while.

we all have our battles, our stuff, our challenges, our rewards, and our devastations. and while we're on upswings, it's sometimes difficult to remember that a good half the world is experiencing something quite opposite.
if you go visit fatty at www.fatcyclist.com, check out his 7/28 post where you can view his 6 minutes of joy. because even at a terrifyingly difficult part of life, he is able to acknowledge that beauty and joy exist. and more importantly, he's able to admit that he needs to incorporate these things into his life, and does so.

back to me, though: I am incredibly blessed and grateful for all the grace that surrounds and weaves through my life. I hold a firm belief that humans are resilient and capable of weathering fairly intolerable storms, and that we are always gently guided to (and through) what is the best experience for us at any given time.
therefore, the crappy, awful, painful things are crucial, and necessary for creating the people we are becoming. like the forge's fire and the unforgiving anvil, these experiences form us and give shape and definition to our character, our hearts, and our very beings.

but I'd say it might be time to let fatty off the anvil.
that's just my opinion. of course.
so I wish for him continued joys and moments of peace, an overflow of love and care from those who surround him and from within his own heart, and ultimately, a soaring rise from the the fire as a phoenix full of power, compassion, empathy, strength, and love.

riding through leaves

it is cold outside this morning.
according to my desktop weather channel, it is 33 but feels like 27.
and on my way back from driving my girls to school, I passed a bicycle commuter pulling a small child in one of those little bubble trailers. I see him regularly, and of course I've made up a terribly romantic story about him:
his name is george, and his wife died of cancer earlier this year, leaving him to care for his three year old son, ryan. george has always been fit, and started commuting by bicycle from his house in sugarhouse up to research park about 5 years ago. but once his wife became ill and then incapacitated, george had to take on the child-care responsibility as well. so he cheerfully hooked the bubble trailer to his bike, and started delivering his son to the montessori program right up the street from me.
since his wife died, he has rounded up some help from many of her friends, who help get ryan from the montessori school to the regular day care up in research park. he then picks ryan up on his way home from work, cruising downhill past my house each late afternoon.
george was devastated by his wife's illness and subsequent death, but he is doing what he has to do. the miles he puts in on his bike each day to and from work are some of the best hours of his day: on the way up to research park he is working hard, muscles firing, heart and lungs kicking in full gear. this is pure workout, time that thought recedes and instinct takes over. his mind is free from worry, hurt, pain, and loss. on the way home, he gets a downhill rush, feels the joy of being in open air, whether it be sun or rain or clouds or cold. george has all the proper gear for any season, and he's an expert at predicting what he'll need to wear each day. he, too, keeps the desktop weather channel on his computer screen.
as difficult as things have been since his wife died, he still finds joy in small things, and is grateful to have ryan. he sees his wife in ryan's eyes, and he senses her each night as he tucks ryan in. she's still around, just differently, just as a silent presence. ryan tells her goodnight, and that he loves her, as he closes his eyes and rests his head on his pillow with the curious george pillowcase. ryan just loves the fact that his dad was named after a monkey.
something ryan has discovered this fall is leaves. they have three impressive, ancient trees on their front lawn, who have been releasing their leaves slowly over these past weeks. ryan loves to play in them, to gather them up and throw them into the air, letting them float down over his head and body. ryan giggles, then stamps his feet and waves his alarms and lets out big Indian warrior woops. george smiles, and rakes a new pile for ryan.
but ryan has also discovered that some people's trees are way ahead of his: there is a certain street they ride down that is literally covered in bright yellow and pale orange leaves, and not only are they so alive with color, they are full of beautiful noise.
this ryan learned the other day when his dad was pulling him in the bubble trailer: the leaves crackle and snap and sound like little firecrackers when the wheels go over them, and then they scatter and blow away as the trailer passes. ryan laughs and laughs when they do this, and george has started to look for gathering of leaves to ride through, so that he can hear his son's giggles float up to him as they ride along the street, on the way to ryan's school and george's work.

fuel, shoes, and couplehood

well, I didn't ride my hundred today: my route planner was a little off in his calculations, and with 73 miles up we decided not to stress about adding the extra sixteen necessary to make 100. and although at that point we were feeling a little beat up, we refueled and could have kept going to our original goal. Ah, what a lesson. I can keep going as long as I keep refueling. I have always struggled with refueling, thinking that it's not always necessary, or I don't know what fuel I need, or that it may be selfish and greedy of me to do so. and though there are certain fuels we all need ~ food, hydration, sleep ~ other fuels can be unique to a person. I've learned I need space, peace, silence, creative outlets, and laughter, among other things. and I have friends who need contact with other friends, gatherings, music, and action movies . . . just as tigers need meat and rabbits need greens, we all have fuel requirements that are unique to ourselves.

So I ended with 84, and called it good. this is big for me, as I usually push to make those goals happen. I am trying to not be so determined, to try to flow more . . .
which leads me right to the flowing river we rode alongside for a while, the Weber. water is soothing, peaceful, invigorating, dramatic: I love the sound of it as it tumbles over rocks in the streambed, and it just fills my heart with joy.

and I also find great joy in street names and signs that I see while on my rides! I collect them, mentally, and know that there is a reason for this. today's favorite: Wooden Shoe Lane. there is a story here! there are stories everywhere. we all have a story, every place has at least one story, every being on this earth has a story. what if one day we all had the wisdom to unearth and listen to these stories?

in closing, toward the end of our ride we were in an area populated with pedestrians and cars, and I rode past an older couple, standing together, waiting to cross the street. I want to grow old with someone I love, cherish, and respect. I want to hold hands and walk together, down a path we create ourselves. I want to wait patiently, knowing that we will cross the challenges of our lives together, when the time is right.

214 miles in this week.....