In my later teens my Venture Scout troop took all our bicycles to camp with us. One of the days was particularly set aside for a ride across the trails to the nearest town. The bikes were mountain bikes and this was a fabulous opportunity to put them through their paces. Well. All the bikes except mine. I had a foldable shopper bike.
My bike was definitely not designed for trail riding. And although I enjoyed cycling, my rides had all been of the “a few miles along country roads” variety.
You can imagine it didn’t take long before I was pretty far behind. One of my friends stayed with me, for which I will always be very grateful. That was partly because he was a kind friend, partly because he rather enjoyed my company but mainly (I suspect) because he feared I would be dead in a ditch if someone didn’t keep an eye on me. I found the going completely exhausting.
Every so often, the others would stop for a breather and to allow me to catch up with them. I would see them ahead, sprawled out on the moor at the top of a hill, swigging from their water bottles, admiring the views and I would be encouraged that, if I could just get to the top of the rise to join them, I too could have a break.
I’m sure you’ve guessed what actually happened. Each time I arrived at the break point, the ride leader would heave a great sigh, utter those immortal words, “Here she is, at last!” and everyone would leap up, get back on their bikes and set off. No break for me. No stretching of my legs or admiration of the view. Yes, I realise I could see the view from my saddle – but in that state, I really wasn’t all that appreciative!
I didn’t die. I made it. There wasn’t really a choice. The ride-leader had the trail map. I had no idea where I was in relation to our camp and, anyway, no way of returning except on my own two wheels. The combination of necessity and my friend’s encouragement got me back.
I’ve been thinking of this incident a lot recently as I have realised that that cycling daytrip has become a metaphor for my life. I currently feel like I am constantly behind. Behind in my plans, behind where “everyone else” is, behind where I need to be or should be. Looking ahead, I can sometimes see points where I think I will be able to take a breather and rest a while. And then, every time I get there, something crops up to push me, stumbling, onwards. I don’t seem to have a copy of the map so I’m not sure where I’m heading or how to get there.
I’m not sure quite how I’ve got to this point. Did I make an unwise agreement to take part in this cycle trip? Did I choose the wrong bike? How come everyone else has the right bike and is so much more able at this? Do I have any choice other than to carry on til I get home? This is exhausting.
I’m glad for the friends I have with me. My husband is my number 1 fan and is doing his best to make sure I’m not left for dead in a ditch. Although, of course, he is on his own cycle ride at the same time. And my faith tells me that Jesus is my faithful friend who has my name on his hands and my life in his arms. Whose burden is easy and whose yoke is light. But the reality is that I can’t always feel his help.
I’m not especially sure, right now, how to end this composition. I don’t have any answers – just those questions. And I’m not sure how or where to get the answers that will help me. Suggestions on a postcard, please.
bellasparkles 