“Get on Your Bikes and Ride. . .”

The end of each September for the past few years I get this earworm of Queen singing and have the hardest time replacing it. I’m embarrassed to admit this; I’m not sure I want to make “this rocking world go round,” but part of my anatomy kinda fits the song. I keep hoping that pedaling seventy-five miles from Cherry Hill to Ocean City will straighten those curves, but here I am lined up at a traffic light surrounded by serious athletes in skintight bike shorts with my own roundness for the world to see.

It all started the spring of one of my early years teaching in Tabernacle. Our librarian, Shayne, and I were in the office talking to the principal. Shayne told us she hoped to get a group of our staff to join her bike team and pedal the MS150. Her “Team ELF” was named for one of my supervisors back in Mount Laurel, for whom I have great fondness and greater respect. When she finished her spiel, I was tempted, but endurance sports were not something I’d ever aspired to.

“I don’t think I could ride my bike that far. The most I’ve ever done is like sixteen miles. And that was back when I was in college.”

“You can do it. We train during the summer and you’ll be ready. There’s a seventy-something year old Chinese doctor who does it every year in a dress and heels. If she can, you can.”

That first year it took the group of us all day, and we might have been the very last team across the finish, but we made it. I decided then if I did it again, I would need proper gear and a new bike, so here I am, a few years later in my own form-fitting shorts with my right shoe clipped into the pedal and my support on the grounded left, waiting for this light to turn green.

This is a really long light. The guy on the bike next to me is awfully close. He’s got a super fancy bike and is talking to his teammate in serious cycler-ease that’s intimidating. I go to move away a little, but oof. . . my right foot won’t unclip, and I start leaning ever so slightly toward the big biker. I can’t recover! The next thing I know, bam, I’m falling into him and we are both sprawling on the ground.

The light turns green and bikes swerve around us. My team-mates, Bob and Lisa, help me up and we get going. “I didn’t even get to apologize.” I give a backwards glance and see the big biker cursing his fancy frame and telling his teammates to go on without him. “Oh my gosh, I’ve ruined his ride.” I might cry.

Bob makes me start to feel better. “It’s his own fault. He had no business standing that close to you.”

I’ve told my teammates not to wait for me at rest stops if I fall behind. I kind of just want to go at my own pace and enjoy this beautiful day. The sky is blue, the air is crisp. I know my husband and kids will be waiting for me on the other side of the big bridges leading to Ocean City. Why, oh why, do those bridges have to be at the very end when I’ve got the least left? I fear not being able to make that last effort.

I must look weary because a biker with the letters “F. R. O. G.” across the front of his jersey rides up next to me and gives me courage. “You’ve got this! Stay strong!” he smiles and gives me a thumbs up.

“From your lips to God’s ears!” I grin right back.

“He is the one who makes me strong,” the other cyclist answers quietly, then he’s pedaling so fast, he’s gone in a flash, but not before I read

F. R. O. G.

Fully

Relying

On

God

on the back of his jersey.

I come to a long straight stretch of road and feel relieved that the crowd of 7000 bikes have thinned. The fast folks are already enjoying hot dogs and chicken dinners at the finish. Just ahead of me, a younger couple are side by side enjoying their pace and space. She catches her tire on the edge of the road and falls right in front of me. I don’t have time to swerve or stop and run right over her front tire before losing control and toppling over on the uneven grass off the shoulder. “Are you okay?” I roll over and pick up my bike then turn to go see how the other girl is. We are both shaken and do a quick check for scrapes and gear damage, but it appears we are unscathed. So lucky, I think. I deserved punishment in return for the earlier accident I caused, but got a slap on the wrist instead of a good spanking.

Next up, the bridges. Oh, goodness they are. . . Big. High. Long. I get down to my lowest gear and put a new song in my ear, one I sang to my children when they were little. A simple tune I made up to remind them who was on their side when things got hard; “I can do all things, all things through Jee-ee-ee-sus. I can do all things through Him who makes me strong. With God it’s all possible, with God it’s all possible! With God it’s all possible. With God it’s all possible.”

Over and over I pedal and hum. The new earworm takes over. Before too long I’m coasting down the second bridge, so relieved. Almost there!

“Lady! Lady!” The voice grows closer and I wonder, is he hollering at me? I turn my head to meet dark eyes flying by. “Lady! You got gum all over yo’ A$$!” He is gone in a flash of lycra. I slow and crane my neck while lifting my derriere off the seat. Sure enough, he spoke truth. When I rolled through the grass, some freshly-spat-out-the-car-window gum attached itself, “all over my . . .”

Note to self: never spit gum out the car window again.

Isn’t this bike ride a metaphor for life? You knock someone over. You pedal. You get encouraged. You pedal. You take a spill and recover. You pedal. You make it over the big obstacle and discover a gum covered bum. But still, you pedal.

I see the finish line. There is my little family waving at me from the barricade. I’m relieved to be at the end of this journey. I sure do hope they remembered my back-pack of clean clothes.

Your Turn: Has a day in your life ever been a metaphor for the ups and downs of this journey of journeys?