Do all the good you can,
By all the means you can,
In all the ways you can,
In all the places you can,
At all the times you can,
To all the people you can,
As long as you ever can. -Attributed to John Wesley
Chip and I rode in the Kluane to Chilkat International Bike Relay on the solstice as a two -person team. He took the first half through the pass, and I rode the eighty-mile or so second half down to the Canada-US border and along the river to Haines. The heat (our first hot summer day), and headwinds were challenging.
I hammered, sucking Gu packets, chugging electrolytes, grabbing refills on the fly. Spitting. Farmer snotting. In the drops, steady up the hills and flying down them. I felt like a 35-year-old badass again. It was really, really fun– even when it wasn’t near the end. Which may explain why I still ride a bike despite some serious trauma–my own and those of people I love. I don’t want to try to explain it anymore. I love riding my bike. It’s good. That’s all.
It was wild racing with two young ski teamers from the Yukon. I tucked in behind them by the airport. They pulled at about 22 mph around the wide bend and kept the pace on the three-mile straight-away to town, taking turns leading. I shouted into the wind that I could hang, barely, and wouldn’t take my turn up front. I’m old enough to be your grandmother, I said. I’d ridden twice as far, and they knew that. They were on competing four-person teams. Don’t wait for me, I said. I’ll stay as long as I can. The boys smiled. Such nice kids.
I held on to them until the firehall when they began their final kick.
I did not go gently into the slow lane.
When I stood to sprint with them, my left hamstring seized and cramped. I couldn’t breathe it hurt so badly. Then the quad twitched and cramped too. I screamed un-grandmotherly expletives in front of the police station. Can you be arrested for indecent language? Is there such a thing anymore? Then my calf seized. The agony.
Maybe I am crazy, but I stayed on the bike churning slowly, shrieking.
I hollered for divine intervention, but Jesus, Mary and Joseph’s to-do list did not include helping me finish a bike race in Alaska. They have more serious work to do right now.
The cramps eased as I turned up the steep hill to Barracks Building finish-line. I climbed ever so carefully, steadily, hoping not to re-trigger them.
At the top, in front of the crowd on the Parade Grounds, Chip, our daughters, their kids, and my friends jumped up and down cheering Go Heath, Mom, Mimi, Heather –All my names. At the finish line, I was able to step off the bike and dip the timing stick in the slot and hand it to my sister, a race volunteer. She asked how the ride went, Great I said. She asked if I needed help. Nope I said, and wobbled toward the rest of my people. I was full of “big feelings,” as one of my little granddaughters says. I might have been crying but I don’t want to share that part.
Turns out some of our older grandchildren want to ride on a team in next year’s relay. I inspired them. (And all the other riders did too, no doubt, maybe even those Yukon boys.) How great is that?
I would love for them to learn cycling’s lessons on living a pretty good life, full of climbs and descents, sweat and tears, balance and fitness, meditation and grace, luck and love – all made much easier by the people riding with you. Yes, there are many places and many ways to do good. Sometimes it happens when you aren’t even thinking about it. That may be the best kind.
