It is Sunday and as soon as we finish eating lunch, my family migrates each to his or her own quiet time and space. I decide to change from my church clothes to some long pants and sleeves and get my bike gear ready. It is a gorgeous 50 degree day. As pumpkins christen most home’s door ways, I am childlike with excitement of thoughts of the fall season. It is my favorite time of year and I thought it would be good for my heart and soul to get some fresh fall air. I head south of town along Main Street, down around the sparkling lake. Passing the golfers I can faintly hear the plinking of the iron swinging onto the small golf balls. I continue north, riding along the perimeter of the lake to 18th Road where I turn and ride straight east.
With my handwritten map folded in my pocket, I eagerly attempt a 40 mile ride. But, the busyness of my life has kept me from riding recently and I realize about ten miles into this ride that my ambition has gotten the best of me. Yet, I keep moving forward, taking in the rustic rainbow colors streaming from tree to tree, leaf to leaf. This particular point in my bike journey is long and flat and the amber waves of grain look like rows and rows of gold glowing in the wind. The white clouds are as perfect as a child’s coloring with the v-shaped birds in blue skies.
The midwestern autumn scenes are majestic. Each season of our Indiana climate is a reminder to me of our ever changing seasons of our lives. There are seasons of new beginnings, life and hope just as there are seasons of death, trouble and pain. These seasons are inevitable. These gorgeous leaves will fall and winter will follow. I used to get anxiety over the change of seasons. I would want to squeeze so much into the summer that when signs of fall would arrive, I would be agitated. Now, I take comfort in the opening of a new season and a closure of the season past.
Another mile along on my journey, I catch the scent of smoky air from someone’s wood burning stove. Steeped in contentment right in that moment, deep in thought, I am stopped by a barking dog protecting its property. A large snarling black dog shows its white fangs at me. In an instant on my long journey, I went from a breath-taking experience to a pee-my-pants freeze in fright moment. Refusing to turn my bike around and go back, I feebly shouted for help. The owner called for his dog and I put one pedal in front of the other and moved forward, not glancing behind me in fear that I might make eye contact again with the doberman.
I was reminded of first grade when I was attacked by three dobermans. They didn’t hurt me, they just all jumped up on me, knocked me down in the snow and hovered over me. It was terrifying for a little girl walking to school. I still have a fear of dogs at times.
Turning north, I see a mile long pasture of black and white dairy cows. Another beautiful sight brands itself in my mind. As I approach the group of cows, we make eye contact and one cow starts to run along towards me. Then, another cow runs towards me. And, as I steer my bike to the other side of this long lonely road, all I can think of is mad cow disease and I imagine the headline, “Biker Girl Dies by Stampede of Mad Dairy Cows.” You may think I am exaggerating, but there were about 100 cows chasing me. I have no idea why, I mean, after all I am 95% vegetarian! Nevertheless, they were running like wild horses and they were after me. Luckily, they weren’t too interested in me to jump the fence and I was able to escape.
This journey is so typical of themes in my life. Numerous attempts, too many to count of handwritten maps detailing my hopes, dreams, ambitions, only to get interrupted by the unexpected happenings. I keep moving forward though. And, how about those times in our lives when we are faced with fear. Do we just turn around and go backwards, or are we strong enough to put out a meek yelp for help? Do we move ahead, facing forward or do we keep looking back and remain frozen in our fears? And how do we handle those conflicts we don’t understand? When life doesn’t make sense, when the cows are supposed to be minding their own business, grazing on grassy pastures and not attacking you. What do you do?
Well, this is what I say, you put one foot in front of the other. Keep your head up and pedal. You move forward. You ride on.
And so I did. At about mile 18, I decided it was time to cut my ride short and head back home. I turned west, hoping not to find any more barking dogs or mad cows. And as I just kept putting one foot in front of the other one, I kept moving forward, striving for home.
