The crash of November 2011

I am approaching the one year anniversary of my most heinous crash.  I'm fairly confident it wouldn't have been impressive to see, but it impacted me, in more than just a physical way.

On the day before Thanksgiving, I planned with my wife that I would go on a short mountain bike ride in the morning prior to our driving up with the kids to visit my folks in the Santa Barbara area.  I went out at 7-ish, planning to be home by 8:10.  I left, quite thankful for my loving wife who lets me play on my bike.

Off I went, up Black Mountain, down a fairly technical rocky section, across a connector trail, and began doing the bottom half of Miner’s Ridge Loop.

Some of you know I commute on the dirt to get to work sometimes.  Well, this is part of my route, so I knew it fairly well.  I knew when rocks were moved, water bars were changed, even small rock piles were disturbed.  I was comfortable.  At one point, there is this super-fun stretch of smooth single track, after which you bear right, and go straight down a lightly rutted trail, which is followed by a 8” drop and some twists that need to be navigated.  I probably had more speed than I am usually comfortable with when I got to the top.  No big deal.  Coming down the hill.  Approaching the 8” drop.  Shift right, get nervous, catch front wheel on small tree, handlebars turn, and WHAM!

Now I am on the ground, in front of my bike, making loud whiny moany noises.  I have fallen on my bike before, and the mental checklist starts firing: what hurts?  Nothing right now.  Stay conscious?  Think so.  Short term memory?  I need to be home by 8:10.  Okay, let’s roll over and OWWWW, maybe not.  Lay back down,  Catch breath.  Try again, maybe I just need to go this WAAAHHHHH.  Okay, maybe not.

I repeated this admittedly poor strategy for quite some time.  I finally looked at my phone (not broken!  Yay!) and checked the time.  8:02.  Hmph.  I suppose it’s time call my wife.  I’m about to call, and happy dog comes up to me, his owner right behind him.

“Are you okay?”

“no.”

“Do you need some help?”

“Yes.”

He turned out to be Steve my Rescue Guy with his trusty but kinda goofy dog Juno.  Steve turned out to be Dr. Steve, an ER doctor at Grossmont.  (More to be thankful for!)  Did I mention he's a veteran who was in Iraq?  What a coincidence! (note: that was sarcasm)  He helped me slowly to my feet.  I got up, leaned on him, and would take three steps sideways, then pause to rest.  I did call my wife.  She called me back.  I stayed chipper on the phone.  Then I called my friend Steve W who has helped me out before.  

So, we’re moving slowly, Juno is getting into trouble and trying to collect ticks, and it’s just slow.  Dr. Steve tells me my options:

·         Hobble down

·         Call the paramedics

·         Get a fireman carry

In my head, they all sound quite painful.  Dr. Steve eventually leaves to put his trusty happy dog Juno in his car so he doesn’t become a tick banquet.

So I stand there.  Ow.

He got back, and broke a couple branches into homemade crutches.  He wheeled my bike, while I hobbled along like Edward Woodenhands.  Moments later, a man with headphones comes up behind us walking his dog.

Man: “Are you gonna move?!”

Dr Steve: “Actually, he’s kinda hurt.”

Man: “Oh.  I’ll make my way around then.”

Dr. Steve: “We could use some help.”

Man: “Looks like you got everything under control.”  Wanders off

Dr. Steve: grumble grumble

So, we continue another seven or eight yards, me flailing my trunk-arms, Dr. Steve being unbelievable patient, asking standard doctor questions: “You have kids?  Plans for Thanskgiving?”

Two mountain bikers show up from behind. 

MTBR#1: “Can we pass?”

Dr. Steve: “He’s hurt.”

MTBR#2: “That’s why I always walk those sections.”

Dr. Steve: “We could use some help.”

MTBR#1 rides off.  MTBR#2 is about to ride off, saying “Good luck!”

Dr Steve: “DON’T YOU THINK YOU GUYS COULD HELP?!”

MTBR#2:”Oh.  Yeah, sure.  What can we do?”

We then begin trying a number of contortions, but finally settle on one guy under each armpit, and one guy carrying my legs under his arms while he faces forward.

This helped.  A lot.  We made fairly good progress.  Steve W my buddy showed up, gave me a Pepsi and a granola bar.    So the four of them got me to the Y of Miner’s Ridge, and then they lifted me onto the bike.  Really.  They pushed me up hills, and helped guide me while I braked downhills, and we got back.

Needless to say, I am fantastically grateful to all four of them.  As they carried me, I was a little embarrassed they had to carry me, but so thankful that it wasn’t painful, and we were making progress. 

We parted ways, I got their numbers so I could buy them beers, bring them cookies, change their oil, scrape their calluses, whatever.

Steve my buddy drove me home to get some clothes, then off to urgent care.  I was in fairly quickly.  Sit down.  In the gown, off to X-Rays.  My hip felt awful, and, hey my elbow feels a little hinky too.

That horizontal line halfway up?  The fact it sticks out on the bottom?  Yeah/

Get the X-Rays, and back to my room.  Turns out I cracked my left iliac wing on my pelvis.  This means no surgery.  Lots of pain, yes, surgery no.  Yay!  Also, the elbow was broken after all.  Really?  And I need a cast.  Ah well.  Better to heal now then face ugly stuff down the road.

So, my wife picked me up, and I called my GP.  He could get me in for a cast right away.  I went there, and they wheeled me right in.  He looked at the x-rays, prescribed some meds, and said “You don’t need a cast.”  Yay!  He then texted a picture to his buddy who is an orthopedist to verify.  The orthopedist texted right back that, no, I don’t need a cast.  Again, very thankful!

I got home, hobbled up to my room.

My kids were very sad that we couldn’t go to the grandparents.  They had their stuff packed and they were ready, but then we couldn’t go because of daddy.

My son then proceeded to invent a board game which we played, and my daughter enjoyed being my nurse and taking care of me. 

Thanksgiving night I spent at home, but I sent my family to my buddy Steve’s place for dinner.  I thought about all the people, the medical care, the passersby, my family, and oh so much I have to be thankful for.  I am truly blessed. 

The first time I tried to go to the bathroom from the bed, it was a 20 minute round trip.

I did manage to record the ride on Strava:



Now, you may ask, what lesson did I learn?  My wife will tell you that she learned not to let me ride just before we go on vacation.  I learned way more than that.  I learned the practical: If I see someone on the ground, I stop.  No question.  Beyond that, I stop whenever I see someone in trouble.  The whole ride-past-yelling-"You okay?"-with-no-intention-to-stop is long gone.

However, much more than that, I learned that sometimes, I need to let others help me.  There are things I can't do on my own.  As it says in Romans 12, we are all members of a body in Christ, and we belong to all the others.  I can't do it all myself.  Eyeballs are amazing, but they aren't very good at hearing.  In this case, I was a (non)walking lesson of needing others to be my feet.   It is often easier to help someone else, but there are things and tasks which I was not designed to do.

Here's the part that some folks would raise an eyebrow at: I think God may have wanted this to happen.  Not just allowed it, but wanted it.  He used it to train and teach me, and to train and teach my family.  It may have already prevented me from doing something else.   God is in control.  Good thing, because if I really were in control, things would go waaaaay worse.

 

50 Mile MTB Marathon, part III: Riding as fast as I did

Read part I here and part II here.

I now had two tires filled with air.  Whoo-hoo!

Off I went.  Due to the endless craziness, I was at the rear of everything.  No matter, there is something that is very motivating about passing people.  Sure, that meant I was behind them, but it also meant that I could go faster than someone. 

After leaving the first aid station, I had a mere 40 miles to go.  I had spent a fair amount of time standing around, and my legs had become cold.  Not mean and uncaring, mind you.  More like, "Hey, this pedaling stuff...how does it work again?"  Thankfully, the next 10 miles were darned flat.  I need to add a modifier to "flat" because in San Diego, there is no flat.  You can climb 1000 feet going up and down the coast.  And that's on the flat section.

This so-called flat section was the section where we rode along a lake shore.  It climbed and descended, and went on some single track.  I had dropped my racing mentality, and switched over to "as fast as is reasonable."  When racing, reason is defenestrated.  When I would approach mildly technical sections, I would dismount.  What's 10 seconds?  I continued to hammer along.  The brain went into "I wonder" mode.  "I wonder when I'll see the first people coming back.  I wonder who's in the lead.  I wonder if we'll see each other and the pass will be safe.  I wonder how long it will be until I pass someone.  I wonder how many people I will pass.  I wonder if anyone will ever pass me. I wonder...."  The first person coming back toward me was not whom I expected.  He is a 50+ single speed racer.  He's really fast, don't get me wrong.  But he was all by himself, and I seriously doubted he passed and dropped all the pros doing the 100 miler.  He said, "Hey, brother," as he passed me.  Something was wrong, but he was riding fairly fast, so I decided not to check in with him.  Later, I found out he had been in a gnarly bar-tangler and broke his top tube.  That's an acceptable reason for a DNF.

I made it to aid station 2.  Yay!  A whole section!  I squeezed my tires.  Still holding!  I grabbed my refreshments, and kept going.  Remember way back in part II, the group of slow folks I had to wait to pass?  I caught them again.  We were starting to see oncoming traffic, so I waited.  Finally, I had the chance to pass, and pass I did.  I started counting people.  I got to about, oh, four, before that seemed silly.  I got to the switchbacks, which have post-and-rail fences and very tight switches, making it challenging to negotiate alone, let alone when there is opposing traffic.  We all said kind and cheering words to each other.  I gave the right of way to the racers, since it really didn't bother me to lose another 10 seconds here, another 10 seconds there.  It'll probably add up to several minutes by the end!  C'est la vie.

I continued to fly along, and caught up to someone who seemed to still be racing.  I wasn't sure why, but I chatted with him, and he was sure we were ahead of a whole bunch of folks.  I wasn't so sure.  I left him and was actually going back and forth with another fellow.  This poor guy had the noisiest brakes.  It was annoying me; I can't imagine what it would be like riding with them.  He would stop and look at them.  We rode together and chatted for a while.  Turns out his shifter broke before the first corner.  He ran back into the pits, and borrowed a demo bike.  That had a stripped out seat clamp, so he had to ride beach-cruiser style.  And the spokes were loose, which is why he was the guy whose bike was on the stand at aid station 1 when I first arrived.  I let him go ahead on the switchbacks on the way back.  We rode near each other for quite some time.  As we were on the switchbacks, I saw folks on there way out.  I encouraged best I could, but I knew they were in for a long day.  I was very impressed that they kept going, though.

Upon hitting aid station 3 (mile 30), I replenished fluids, grabbed some cookies and other munchies, and started riding.  And the back felt, sigh, squishy.  I squeezed it.  Not that bad, and it held well enough for 20 miles.  Rode back, got a pump, and pumped them up to about 40 psi.  And off I went.

I discovered something about myself in this section, that I had noticed earlier in the race, and I actually finally figured it out.  As I was riding up a climb, I started thinking about whether I could quit.  Could I have my wife pick me up?  She was taking my son to a birthday party (fishing) and I was doing the math as to where I could meet her so she wouldn't be late for the party.  I realized it was just as easy to ride all the way back, get the car, and meet them at the party.  That's when I realized it.  In the middle of non-final climbs, I get bummed out.  It had happened on the previous climb.  It had happened in other races.  I could now see it for what it really was.  Hard work, but not the final hard work.  Now that I recognized it for what it was, it made dealing with it MUCH easier.

And that was the second big lesson.  If I take the time to recognize what is really happening, and the why, it makes dealing with it much easier.  This is true for mountain bike racing, and it is also true for snapping at someone, or being offended.  When I reflect on the why, I can change the behavior by the grace of God.

After I cleared the climb, I continued to motor.  I tried to go faster, but it seemed I went the speed I went.  Immediately before the final aid station, we were directed up a single track that climbed over a small hill.  At that point, I wasn't really keen on climbing, but it was part of the course.  Coming the other way was some fellow pushing his singlespeed.  He obviously took a wrong turn.  What a silly mistake!  Luckily for him, I was there to politely explain that he could have simply stayed on the fireroad and avoided going against traffic on this single track.  He didn't seem to understand what I was telling him, but that was okay.  I'm sure he was pretty tired at that point.

I got to the end of the single track section, and looked at the posted signs.  They clearly showed that we were supposed to go the way Mr Singlespeed went.  Oops.  I would have encountered that sign immediately after my tube debacle at aid station 1.  Nevertheless, I had cut the course, and knocked literally HUNDREDS of yards off my total distance.  Next time, I will be careful in my disposition of helpful advice.

  I made it safely to the final aid station.  I was surprised to see one of the people I was wondering how I would compare to.  "Hey!  How are you?" I asked.  "Cramping."  I pumped up my tire, drank a Coke, ate an Oreo, and said, "Let's go!"  It was quickly apparent that he was in full Damage Control.  I've been there, and you often don't want company.  So off I went.  As I zipped along, I caught up with another guy I was wondering how I would compare to.  We chatted for a moment, and he was obviously dining at the Buffet of Pain and had gone back for seconds.  I rode off.

Final climb time.  I had no desire to ride up it at full effort.  Two reasons: one, I was very tired, and two, I had developed hot spots in my feet.  Like red hot pokers.  I wanted to get OUT of those pedals!  SO, I started hiking, but got back on before the summit.  I was still passing people.

I rode the final five miles, grabbed my belt buckle, and hopped in the car.  I drove over to the birthday party, and fished with my son.  I found out he had already caught one before I arrived!
After the party, we went back to the race course.  I checked the results (I had a slow time.) and grabbed an Oreo for my son.

This was the third running of this race.  It was my third time.  I am glad I completed it again.  It was not what I planned, not what I expected, but certainly a blessing.  As always, I found myself missing my family mid-race.  It always helps me realize how wonderful my family is, and how much I love them.  Will I be out there next year?


God only knows.

50 Mile MTB Marathon, Part II: Needs fulfilled

For part 1, go here.

I had a fresh CO2, my inflater, a spare tube, my under-seat water thingy, and I was ready!  I was racing in the sport category.  I knew full well that it was highly unlikely I would win, barring some sort of freak water spout or the like.  We rolled out, and I was in the top ten.  I started moving up, and stayed very close to the front.  I didn't feel like I was straining at all, which was a good thing, because my first year I did the race, I raced the first 12 miles as if it were a 20 mile race, and spent the next 38 miles in damage control.

We're cooking along, passing some of the slower experts, snaking to one of the few climbs of any significance, and around a corner, the tail end (where the tube had been inserted) felt...squirmy.  Oh dear.  I yell to the guy behind me, "Is my tire flat?"  He yells back, "Um, yeah, it is!" to which I shout back, "Pulling over to the left!"

Pulling over with a mechanical is something I have done VERY few times in races.  In fact, I don't believe I've had a mechanical in the past three years in any race.  Needless to say, I was unhappy.  To work hard to get to the front, and stay at the front, and then watch everyone else come past, is very disheartening.  I was determined to change my tire quickly (here come the beginners) and get ready to (and now the last of the beginners) get going.  Of course, I'm praying the whole time, "All right God, what are you trying to teach me?  You have my attention.  I still want to glorify you."

I actually did a fairly fast tube change, and, since we had gone less than five miles, I had plenty of miles to chase the rest of the folks.  Let's go.  I get to the climb.  And the trailing group.

I have been much more actively training in the past 2-3 years, and I have become faster.  I remember what it is like to not be fast.  I knew these folks, if they finished, would be out here for a very, very long time.  So, I waited patiently.  Probably better than killing myself on the climb.  I finally passed them before the summit and began the descent.  As I descended, carefully, I realized benefit number one of getting the flat: I wasn't that motivated to cook through corners, so I was safe from overcooking the corners.

I safely got to the bottom, and began the LOOOONG flat section of the race.  Put it in a big gear, and go!  As I rode, the back of my bike began to feel...squishy.  I was still 3-4 miles from the first aid station.  I had no spare left.  This.  Was.  Bad.  I kept riding.  It went from squish to feeling the rim on the ground.  I stood up, and got way over my front wheel, hoping to do no damage, and keep moving.  I was caught by a couple of guys.  One had a bandage on his leg, so he was obviously recovering from something, which explained his being way back in the field with me.  They asked me if I needed any help.  Note: they were the third and fourth person to come past me.  The first two asked what was wrong, I said a flat, they said that's a bummer, and off they went.  hey, it's a race.

These two stopped when I said, yes, I needed help.  All I needed was a CO2.  They quickly pulled out a CO2, and I aired up the rear, and figured it would hold well enough.  I knew they had neutral support and a mechanic, so I'd get a new tube there.  After he let me air up he said, "Here take this.  I found it on the trail." It was a combo pump/CO2 inflator with a CO2 strapped to it.  Seemed wise, so I took it.

Off we rode, and I hammered along to get tot he first aid station.  I get there, and someone has a bike on the stand already.  I asked for a tube, and figured I'd get started myself.  He said, "I'm all out."  I was shocked.  Apparently, he brought only 10 26' tubes for us Luddites who weren't on 29ers.  He had already used them up.  Plentiful goat heads, I suppose.  Mental note: stay on trail for the first 8 miles, no matter what.  I ran my hand on the inside of the tire, and found the offending metal wire.  So it wasn't just the goat heads! 

So , there I stood, trying to figure out how to salvage my race.  I may be calling my race over.  What could I do?  Suddenly, "hey, do you have any Stan's?"  "Yep!"  After talking with RS who decided to be ready in case of a flat to convert back to tubeless, I put my valve in my jersey pocket.  Great!  Tire is good, we have a valve, we have Stan's!  The mechanic helped me put on the tire, and put in the Stan's.  He didn't have a compressor, so I tried to get the bead to set using a floor pump.  No luck.  Grab a volunteer.  Still didn't work.  But wait!  Random (yeah, right, random, like I believe that) guy gave me a CO2 inflator, and a CO2 cartridge.  Attach, inflate, bead seats!  Hooray!  My hopes had quickly shifted from "How will I place?" to "I still can finish!" 

That's when God started making it clear to me.  He may not fulfill all my wants (high placings, etc.) but he will fulfill my needs.  I had the conversation with RS and brought my valve.  I had my flat repaired before the race started.  I had a tube to get me farther along.  Someone I did not know gave me exactly what I would need to be able to finish the race.  That realization was worth the price of admission.

As for the rest of the race, that will have to wait for the next post.

50 Mile MTB Marathon, Part I: Pretending I'm Ready

Well, it's been a while since I've posted, and considering the mountains of feedback I've been receiving, I feel compelled to write another post.  By "mountains of feedback," I am mean that my dog looks at me with a questioning look.  Of course, Chase is likely wanting food, as he is a Labrador.  But if I ask him, "Hey, Chase, should I post again?  Should I?  Huh?" he starts wagging his tail and gets very excited.  Plus, much has happened to write about.  It seems it's always a game of catch up.  That said, I need to get someone to read the blog, as a sort of accountability thing.

On September 8, I raced in the Racers and Chasers Mountain Bike Marathon.  It's a wonderful excuse to go ride really hard for 50 miles.  The day before, I previewed the start (and end) of the course.  I wanted to make sure that I would be comfortable riding the Grandpa Bike down the only real descent from Raptor Peak.  I had been on it many, many years ago, and it was more than sketchy: exposure AND off-camber rocks.

I went and rode the course, and it was great.  I felt great.  I went fast, but it didn't feel hard at all.  Ooh, boy, was I ready.

Evidence I thought I was ready:

Sweet.  I also had an opportunity to try out something I borrowed from a friend of mine.  You see, that morning I was trying to decide if I wanted a Camelbak, or if I wanted to go bottles only.  I was chatting up my friend (I'll call him CycloCrusher, because he is really fast cyclocross racer) to ask his well-reasoned opinion, and he said, "Actually, I have this nifty thing that hangs from your seat and holds water.  I lent it to [a mutual friend].  I can ask him if he has it."  Fifteen minutes later he walks up, carrying a bag, and says, "It's a sign from the Lord."  Apparently, mutual friend walked up to CycloCrusher's desk, bag in hand, and handed it to him, without any input from CycloCrusher. 

I needed to go over the bike that night, get it nice and shiny, and get ready for the race.  While I was checking out the bike, I noticed a couple things.  These things were, in fact, goat heads.  Not actual heads of goats.  I suspect I would have noticed that during the ride.  No, these are dreaded pokey guys that sit on trails and wait for tires to leap at.

If God made spike strips

I found two of them in there.  Ack.  At this point, I need to tell you a bit about the Grandpa Bike.  It is called this because it belongs to my dad.  He'll be 76 in October.  The fact that I'm borrowing my dad's bike is awesome on so many levels.  It's an S-Works Weight Weenie Mobile.  Very light, full suspension, with tubeless wheels.  Now, I haven't been a tubeless guy, because of all the problems I've seen others have with the beasts.  Well, I pulled them out, heard some hissing, and did the pump and spin.  I checked them an hour later, and they seemed to be holding up just fine.  I was ready to go.

I went to bed, and managed to wake up without an alarm at 4:30 a.m.  I managed to get up, and spend some time in the Word and in prayer.  I wanted to glorify God and have a good time, and bless those around me.  I also wanted to go really, really fast, but wasn't too worried about it.

I drove out to the race course, had plenty of time to get checked in  and get my number.  I chatted with some folks, including a guy I had raced against before.  He was bemoaning the fact that he just got back from a trip the night before.  He also had a flat tire, and put a tube in, but figured he'd bring his valve, so he could convert back to tubeless if he had a flat on the course.  Throw in the valve, some Stan's, and air it up.

I then went off to get the bike together.  Looking at the front wheel, I found...another goat head.  I pulled it out.  Hissssssss......  No worries, just pump it up, and spin the tire.  Didn't hold.  I have 10 minutes until the scheduled start.  There was neutral support, so I went trotting over there and had him put in a tire. Anxiety was setting in.  (I know, be not anxious...) He put in a tube, and made sure I had a spare, and an extra CO2, and I went off to line up.  The start wasn't exactly on time, so I had another five minutes to stand around, chat some more, and get ready to race.

Looking back, I thought I had it all together.  I thought I was a man completely ready to race.  Smoooooth.  Maybe a couple more Os in that word even.  Prepared.  Then, one little thing happened, and I was thrown for a loop.  Had the fact the God is sovereign, and the fact that He loves me, and the fact that all things work for the good of those who love Him, according to His glory, and the fact that it really is just a bike race, actually sunk in, I would never have been anxious.  I hope and pray that the next time a little something goes wrong, I can remember all of that.

As for the race itself, that will need to wait until the next post...

It isn't about the bike

A couple mornings ago, I became aware that all the good stuff is by His strength, for His glory. I was thinking about Aaron Gwin, and the rider he is.  Trek certainly wants us to give the bike lots of credit.  How ever, just as it is with Ronaldho's shoes, or Jimmy Page's guitar, or Stephen Spielberg's camera, you can't give the credit to it.  You can attribute it to how well it was made, but, more so, to the power of the one using it.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.

I cannot strut about, any more than Jimmy Page's guitar can say, "Oh yeah!  It's all me! I did it all by myself!"

I want to walk in humility, and give God all the glory. 

Getting meta, lighter loads

I looked at the date of my last post: June 8th.  "Oooh, I'm a BAD blogger!  How can I let down my imaginary legions of fans and followers!  Whatever shall I do?"  Then, approximately 1.7 seconds later, I thought, "Why am I condemning myself?  The past is gone.  Move on."  After that I realized that my quiet time has historically been much the same.  I would do well for a while (longer than I did well on the blog, for all of you keeping score), then totally lapse.  I am now doing better with my quiet time, but only because I have someone holding me accountable. 

I guess that means I need to recruit some followers.  Get some accountability.  Hmmm.....

On to mountain biking!

Right now, I am borrowing my dad's bike.  That's right.  He's 75.  He's got an awesome mountain bike.  He uses it.  And I don't mean for picking up something at the store.  No, he uses it for mountain biking.  So, that's pretty awesome.  Well, the bike is pretty great, too.  It's full suspension, and weighs under 23 lb., with pedals.  And he let me borrow it.  As a kid, we all want keys to the car.  Now, I want to ride my dad's bike.

Off I went riding this bike.  I climbed a local fire road, and went way faster than I had on my normal steed, which is a 32 lb 5.5" travel All-Mountain beast.  Note: I am not an all-mountain beast, but riding that bike is cushy and leaves me as fresh as the morning dew.  Not fresh morning doo.  That would be gross.

Anyway, the lighter load made it so much easier to climb.  Even hike-a-bike became pick-up-the-bike-and-trot.

If you are familiar with the story of Pilgrim's Progress, you know the primary quest-y thing is a man named Christian has a tremendous burden that he is trying to get rid of.  Just as riding becomes easier as I shed pounds from the total load (I have a few spares I carry when I walk), my spiritual life gets easier as I shed things.  A couple nights ago, I went through my Device and deleted a bunch of unnecessary albeit mildly entertaining apps.  I'm trying to reduce time loads, weight loads, distraction loads, so I can enjoy all those things that matter in the long run.  The sad but funny thing is, I've caught myself being irritated when I get interrupted by something important when I'm doing something meaningless.  I'm sure I'm the only person who has that problem.

A Blown Engine

I rode into work this morning, with a purpose.  I don't mean getting to work, which was something I planned on doing.  I mean, I was trying to break 40 minutes.  I've done this before.  However, since it happened, I (a) broke my pelvis, and after recovering, I (b) gave a double-unit of blood.  I am now getting back up to speed, and, even with a pretty hard week of riding under my metaphoric belt (who wears a belt when they ride?), I figured I had a shot. 

I left the house.  Big ring immediately.  Got up to speed, and started going.  Back off a bit, then worked it going up the hill.  As I arrived at the summit of the climb, I eased off, because I knew that I needed to save some for later.  I can't go all out the whole time; if I try, I'll blow the engine.

Which brings me to my lesson.  I need to have times of rest.  That rest is optimum if it is a capital "R" Rest.  That is, I need to take time away from the world, and glowing rectangles, and the noise, and sit quietly in His presence.  Otherwise, I'll blow my engine.

The source of my joy

I rode to and from work yesterday on the trails.  I felt great, and rode well, and had a wonderful time.  And that's okay.  However, there is a danger.  It's an easy slope to slip down that starts with enjoying the ride.  Then, it moves toward the ride brings me joy.  This is followed by the ride is the reason for my joy.  That's a bad place to be.

I need to be careful.  I really do enjoy riding, but the ride can't be the reason.  It all has to point back to God, because God makes very clear that he will not share His glory with another.  In addition, if I am depending upon the bike, it will let me down.  I would then have the problem of being without joy because of a bad ride. 

It was the first ride with the new tires.  The new tires are really quite grippy.  I'm sure there's a lesson from that, too, but all I have so far is "Whoo hoo!" 

Holding things together

Sometimes, I don't even need to get on the bicycle to get a good lesson from it.

Last night, I checked the tread on my tires.  Wow.  I still have knobs, but they aren't knobby anymore.  More like bumpy.  Chunks of the knobs are no longer there.  I don't think they grip anymore; rather, they mildly resist sliding.

Obvious decision: Change the tires.  I wasn't sure if I was going to ride to work this morning, but I thought it made sense, and would take 15 minutes, maybe.  I flipped the bike upside down, and took off both wheels.  I got the tires off, removed the old tires, and put on new ones.  Very pretty and clean and with well-defined bumps.  I pumped up the tires, and prepared to put the wheels back on the bike.  Putting on the rear wheel, I was having a challenge getting it into the dropouts.  That wasn't unusual: What was unusual was: the derailleur and derailleur hanger were no longer attached to the bike. Ack!  Okay, throw it in reverse, and see what happened.

I was missing one screw, and the other had come unthreaded, but was still on the hanger.  I don't know if this had happened as a result of my crash in November (that story gets its own post).  But one thing seemed apparent: the back of my bike was held together by a stack of parts.  The quick release held the derailleur hanger (mostly) in place.  When I removed the wheel, everything came apart.

I received two lessons from this one.  First of all, I want to examine what is holding me and my life together.  Am I leaning on a stack of worldly things that, if a single item is removed, everything else falls apart?  Or, am I really and truly relying on the immovable Rock?

The other, more obvious one, was that I contemplated riding at all.  If I rode, there would be no way that I could go to my son's Bible Olympics today across town.  I knew my wife wouldn't be able to be there for the whole thing, so he may have won, or not, but wouldn't have a parent to share the moment with.  He had practiced a bunch.  And here I was, ready to ride my bike to take care of my own wishes instead.  I have plenty of opportunities to ride.  To make this extra clear, when I had the bike kind of assembled, still missing a screw, one of the tubes had gone flat overnight.  I got the point, finally.

I went to the Bible Olympics.  Only two kids got all the verses correct.  My son was one of them, and I got to hug him.  I am thankful for my bike's mechanical failures.

I hope I can save my bike more damage and remember this lesson.

A jump of certain (or not so certain) doom!

I'm realizing I should post some pictures with my posts.  For example, I was riding this morning before church in an area where folks have built up some jumps of varying sizes.  As previously stated, I'm not that jumpy, yet.  I'd like to be comfortable in the air, though.  I saw a jump, and thought I should try going over it.  Maybe get a little bit of air.  Then I saw another jump, parallel to the first one I saw, and considered going over it instead.  "Ah," I said, "I dare not.  I have no idea what is on the other side."

WHAM!  No, I didn't crash.  I had one of those moments where God made something extra clear to me.  This jump was an object lesson for me.  Too often, I dare not, because I have no idea what is on the other side.  I exercise more caution than I ought.  I'm not saying I should blindly tear down every trail without fear.  I am saying that if God wants me to ride down a trail, I should ride down that trail.  It's not the trail that matters, it's my listening to and obeying God.

In 2 Timothy 1:7. Paul writes, "For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline."  I often succumb to timidity.  In Joshua 1:9, an angel of the Lord says to Joshua, "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go."  Of course, I needn't beat myself up about this.  If Joshua, the General of the entire Army of Israel, and their leader, needs to be told to be courageous, I might need such encouragement as well.

Oh, in case you wondered, it was completely safe on the back side of the jump, and I never really left the ground anyway.  I'd love to share a picture of the front and back side of the jump.  Still learning, I suppose.

God, I ask that you would direct my pedal strokes, where you want me to climb I will climb, and where you want me to descend, I will descend.

Everlasting Joy

I'm a mountain biker.  I am quite passionate about it.  I'm not the fastest, or the most skilled, or even the most willing to risk life and limb.

When I ride, I view it as an opportunity to talk to God and to listen to Him.  Don't get me wrong: it isn't that I enter this perfect Christian state of prayer; plenty of times my mind is on other things, such as "Look, a bunny!" or "Branch!  Duck!  Parry!"  or "I'm really tired" or even "Wheeeee!!!"

I had a ride that was much of that last one.  I was having such fun.  Pure enjoyment.  I started wishing it would never end.  But I knew it would, either the joy or the ride.  That's when it rang clear: I should be seeking my joy from a source that is never ending.

In Romans 14:17, the Bible says, "For the kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking, but of righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit."  I would say it is also not a matter of riding my bike.  In 1 Timothy it says, "For physical training is of some value, but godliness has value for all things, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come."  I really am not as godly as I want to be, but I sure see it's value.

So, here I am, laying it out there for those four people who stumble across this blog due to a typo or some other bizarre reason: I am going to be seeking godliness by making sure that my mountain bike is a tool, not a source.  I will have fun on my rides, but those rides will not be the source of my Joy.

The real question: Will I keep blogging for more than one month?  The last time I blogged for more than a month was six years ago, and that one had an obvious ending.  I tried to revive it, but it kept waning.  So, we'll see what happens.  I think I'll keep at it this time, God willing.