Miles Aren’t the Only Thing That Fly By

My oldest son is getting married. MY son. Getting married. I am old enough to have a son GET MARRIED. Can you tell that this realization is slow in arriving? The wedding is in 11 days.

There is no road as long as Memory Lane. The series of bicycle related memories are many. Big wheels, the first bicycle with training wheels (red as I recall). The eventful day that the training wheels came off, a bigger bike, a newer bike, a ride across Iowa, then another, Bicycle Tour of Colorado – twice, and the Three States Three Mountain 100 miler – twice. Oops, I left out the multi-state “Biking for Jesus” ministry tour between freshman and sophomore college years.

Where was I? Why does it seem like yesterday that I pulled him in a red wagon? Where was my attention as these years passed? Just as often occurs when I am on my seat, my view must have been focused inward, instead of outward. I missed the magic moment when he passed from boy to man.

I have always loved the sentiment that one of the most important things parents can give our children is roots and wings. As a cyclist, I hope that instead I have given my children balance and wheels.

Balance is so important as we cycle through life. It’s not easy traveling on two thin tires inflated to 80 psi. Dangers abound – unseen road hazards, sudden and unexpected stops, feet that won’t unclip from pedals, and the need to make quick moves to stay upright.

Balance is equally important as we move through present day life that can pressure us to 150 psi. Balance is knowing when good enough is good enough. Knowing where your values lie, and when to put your foot down and stand up for those values. Balance is about holding on and letting go – of worries, anger, fear, joy, and sadness. Balance is knowing when to lean left, lean right, and when a fall onto soft grass is better than holding course and meeting the immovable object. I wish my children the balance of knowing when and how to play; and when and how to focus on a task at hand. The balance of giving AND receiving. Gratitude.

Wheels take us places. And wheels are so much better than wings. With wings we travel fast and above the clouds. With wheels, the pace is ours to choose. Nature is beckoning. With wheels, we only have to open our eyes. We can open our eyes to the outside world, and enjoy the people, places, smells, sights, and sounds on every mile of the journey of life. With wheels we can enjoy the ride while opening our inner eye and ruminate about life, pleasant memories, and (for some of us) flights of fancy.

Wheels are a gift of time in this fast paced world. Purposeful play – one is going somewhere, but at your own speed. With wheels, my children will never lose track of the connection between their healthy body and how they pass through the world. I power my bicycle, not Exxon. If control is the issue, wheels are the solution. With enough effort, they can power up any hill and pause at the top to savor the victory. They can be unstoppable. They can set goals and achieve them: mile by mile, hill by hill, rain and shine, windy and calm. Over time, wheels are the counterbalance to the “got to have it now” mentality. Wheels take time, perseverance, and a willingness to be joyful on the long downhill runs that follow a summit. Wheels are a gift.

I love you, my son, as you move into this new phase of life. Bon Voyage – it’s a glorious ride!

Summertime

One of the best things about riding a bike is that for a few lovely minutes, I am 11 years-old again. Oh, not the gawky, awkward, self-conscious 11 year-old. But the freckly-faced 11 year-old that received a slightly used blue and silver one-speed, coaster brake equipped beauty for my birthday. The 11 year-old who was terrified to ride down the Pine Street hill, but could ride up the same hill - no problem. I feel the breeze in my hair, I remember riding “no hands” and learning to peddle like crazy so that for a few glorious minutes I could put my feet up on the handlebar. That first taste of freedom that a bicycle brought. The first taste of what it might be like to be “grown up” and able to go where I wanted, independently, and f-a-s-t.

It’s only a lovely few minutes, though. Then my _ _ - something body reminds me that there isn’t much fear of how fast I can manage to go downhill, it’s fear of just how slow I might go uphill! But, still…for those minutes, it’s the summertime of youth, and I hear a popsicle calling my name.

Why did the summer days of childhood never seem as hot? I don’t remember ever thinking that it was too hot to ride my bike, go down to the park for crafts and activities, or play with neighborhood friends. I don’t recall heat as an excuse to avoid the 1+ mile walk from home to the nearest city swimming pool. I remember eating supper in the basement, because it was the coolest spot in the house, and watching the water bead up on metal glasses holding icy cold tea.

Summer was clean sheets that smelled like sunshine, Noxzema on sunburned shoulders, a trip to the zoo, Sunday picnics, and my brothers digging a hole to China in the backyard.

Is summer still summer? Have I changed or has the taste of summer changed? Or is it the pace of summer that has changed? I don’t know. But for today, I only need Lil’ Red and a few minutes on the road to take me back. Back home.