I spent a lot of my rolling time this week, thinking about Senator John Fetterman. More specifically, about the public perception of Fetterman‘s choice to take leave of his Senate seat, to address a mental health concern. Fetterman has dealt with depression, intermittently, throughout his adult life. According to sources, that depression became more severe after a recent stroke. Approximately 1/3rd of all stroke survivors experience some level of depression.
Members of the opposing political party, and some media outlets supporting that party, were quick to call for Fetterman’s resignation. They argued that someone dealing with a mental health issue was not fit to execute the responsibilities of that job. If living and dealing with mental a health issue precludes one from performing their job, at least half of America should be out of work, according to that reasoning. Fetterman’s decision to do what’s in the best interest of his mental health, is not only admirable, it was brave. It sets an example for others, that mental health should be addressed — like any other illness.
When past members of the senate and the house of representatives have dealt with physical issues such as heart disease, cancer, and other debilitating physical issues, their constituencies, as well as their contemporaries from both parties, have supported them. Failing to do this for a mental health issue sends a horrible message to the tens of millions of Americans who are already afraid to take that step into the hospital that Fetterman took last week — to get help.
This shouldn’t be a partisan or a media thing. The stigma associated with mental illness is the largest barrier between those who need help, and the help that’s available to them. That we stand up for and support people dealing with cancer, heart disease, and other physical illnesses, but wince or belittle someone who struggles with mental health, is to our national shame.
I’ve lived with mental health issues since I can remember. I can’t count the times that, in the middle of an otherwise ordinary day, I’ve thought about stopping whatever I was doing and checking myself into a hospital — because I felt I was profoundly incompatible with the world around me. And for that precise fear of being stigmatized, outcast, or perhaps put in the wrong level of treatment, I John Wayne’d my way through it, finding therapy in exercise, writing, and for 10 years of my life, through alcohol. Somehow, and by the grace of God, I’ve managed to stay ahead of it, though the shadow of depression still leans over me regularly.
Until we view and discuss mental illness in the same way we see cancer, heart disease, or rheumatoid arthritis, people will be afraid to seek treatment they need, and the problem will cascade, only to grow larger, and larger still. Regardless of your political persuasion, or what your agenda is in the voting booth, we should support Senator Fetterman in the same way we would support our own child. He set an excellent example for the millions of people who are hesitant to take the exact step that he took — a step that may have saved his life.
This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb
If you dig it, please share and help spread the word. Oh, and there’s this from Tex Perkins and Murray Paterson. Enjoy…!
Before I leave to ride each afternoon, I put one of the critters in charge of the house while I’m gone — to ensure no intruders get in. I sit on the sofa between Mischa Kitty and Stroodle Dog and it goes like this…
“Mischa, you get the nod today. Stroodle will be your lieutenant and backup if needed, but otherwise it falls on you. Use your cunning first, and your ability to reason. Use your teeth and claws only if you need to. I’ll be gone for a couple of hours. When I return, you can have the evening off…”
On the days Stroodle gets the nod, Mischa is lieutenant and backup. On Sundays they both get the day off, but are essentially on-call when I’m gone.
Before I close the door, I ask if either one has any questions. Neither has ever asked me a question — a sign of their respect for my authority. As I pedal from the driveway I’m confident that, whoever’s in charge, my home is in good hands. Ehr, good paws.
Stroodle is 20 now, and slowing down. In our time together, we’ve shared seven homes. In that time he’s flawlessly protected each one. As I’m now contemplating my own retirement, it occurs to me that Stroodle’s working days should be behind him. He’s paid his dues.
Before I left yesterday, I sat with Mischa and Stroodle and had an overdue discussion. I explained to Stroodle that his working days are done. Mischa, now 9, was handed the torch. In time, I told her, there will be another critter, most likely a dog, to share the responsibilities. However, for the foreseeable future, it’s going to be her gig. She’ll still get Sundays off, and on the days Mischa’s not feeling well, Stroodle can pick up a shift here and there if he’s up for it.
It may seem eccentric or even crazy that I talk to my critters this way, and that they have assigned responsibilities. The ritual is good for all of us though — it’s a way that we bond through the sound of my voice, and it gives them a sense of purpose, And for a small portion of my day, somebody actually listens to me.
This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb
Whether you ride a bike or not, thank you for taking the time to ride along this week. If you haven’t already, please scroll up and subscribe. If you like what you read, give it a like and a share. Oh, and there’s this from Billy Joe Shaver & Company. Enjoy…
I created my first Facebook account in 2006. A friend, familiar with the organization, assured me it was going to be huge. I didn’t use that account much, but as Facebook grew in popularity and more people I knew were using it, I got increasingly drawn in. This was before the era of the smartphone and my desktop computer was my exclusive porthole into social media. I’d check Facebook for a few minutes each morning, again in the evening, and maybe in the middle of the day if I wasn’t too busy. It was far from being the center of my world.
The evolution of my Facebook use was subtle, but increased over time. The more connections I made, the more time I spent using the platform. And as evolutions go, I barely noticed what was happening. With the advent of the smartphone and the Facebook app in 2008, the social network left my desktop for my hip pocket. On a dime, I went from checking it 2 to 3 times a day, to checking it in the grocery line, at traffic lights, waiting for a waitress to take my order, and anytime I wasn’t otherwise engaged — including airport bathrooms. It became central to my daily experience.
As my use increased, I found value in the platform — I’m a people person and Facebook is made out of people. I’m also an introvert with a tendency toward social awkwardness, so it allowed me to fulfill my need for human connections, but from a safe distance. I enjoyed connecting with people over music, fitness, and art. I also participated in my share of sophomoric hijinks, including homemade videos of my talking dog.
Between 2010 and 2015, as the tenor the nation began to sour, Facebook became more political, more volatile, and increasingly divided. Finger-pointing, abusive language, and vitriol became the the currency of exchange for many. As this manifest, it became a badge of honor for some to be sent to Facebook jail, to have their accounts suspended, or like my brother in 2020, banned from Facebook for life. During this time, many left the platform of their own accord due to the negativity.
As the platform grew more negative, I leaned in with a more positive presence. I shared original stories, original photographs, and kept my interactions as positive as possible, though I still participated in some sophomoric hijinks — because in a nation absent of decorum and struggling to stand up straight, I never lost my sense of humor.
As interactions grew more negative, the call increased from governments, action groups, and parents for Facebook to minimize threats, abusive language, and people who abuse the platform. Facebook responded with the use of artificial intelligence (bots and algorithms) to determine who was violating their “community standards”. Those in violation would have their use limited or suspended, with little recourse on the part of the offender. As this continued, inconsistencies began to surface in how Facebook justice was administered…
Recently a woman photographed a dramatic image — her own shadow against low gray clouds. The image was magnificent and made it around the internet in a matter of days. When a friend shared it on Facebook last week, I made the comment…
“Witchcraft. Burn her…!“
Within 48-hours I was notified by Facebook my comment went against community standards and my account had been suspended for 3-days. This came just two weeks after a similar suspension for using the word “execute“ in a proper sentence. Keep in mind, no human being was a part of that judicial process. Justice was administered by artificial intelligence. The algorithm did give me the opportunity to appeal my sentence, but made clear the appeals process could take several weeks — for a 3-day suspension.
With nearly 3-billion accounts, I understand why Facebook could never staff or pay enough humans to take on a task that bots and algorithms can do far more efficiently. I also understand that they’re working to minimize kinks in the process so innocent people don’t have their accounts suspended for using the word “execute” in a proper sentence. In truth, I really don’t have an issue with my account being suspended for those minimal infractions.
The issue I have with Facebook though, is its repeated use of the term “community standards”. This is a company who’s representative have a lied under oath before the US Congress. It’s a company which has manipulated its algorithms in ways to make the platform more addictive for everyone, including and especially children. It’s gathered information for the benefit of selling it without user knowledge. It eavesdrops as a means of targeting and redirecting its advertisers. It has knowingly created divisions among users because those divisions have been proven, by Facebook‘s own staff, to keep users engaged longer and more frequently.
In short, Facebook is a manipulative, devious, and self-serving enterprise which puts marketshare and profit ahead of all other concerns — including the mental health of children. I don’t need them preaching community standards when a part of their mission is tearing communities apart on behalf of marketshare and profits. Nearly all of what I’ve shared on Facebook, going back a generation now, has been positive in nature. I’m one of the good ones — one of the people who tries each day to make the experience positive, not just for me, but for those I interact with.
What Facebook bots and algorithms don’t take into consideration when they suspend or ban users like me, is that they’re also separating families and friendships. I’m grateful each week I can connect with friends and family around the world. That experience has helped me during difficult times. Facebook is also a business tool for me — I use it to promote my small business, and always in a positive way. My Spoke And Word Page on Facebook has been the best therapy I’ve ever had for dealing with my mental health issues.
In a world where it’s reinforced daily that we shouldn’t take things personally, I take this very personally — I’m hardwired that way. I’ve been one of Facebook‘s biggest fans. Despite their corporate nonsense, the miracle of global interconnection can’t be overstated. The influence on my life, from people I’ve connected with via that medium, has made me a more rounded person and broadened my mind in ways I could’ve never imagined to 2005.
Being suspended for an innocuous comment negatively impacted my livelihood, my personal relationships, and even my mental health. I’ll accept this, my second 3-day suspension, and I’ll likely return to my Facebook routine when it expires — maybe. That said, if I find myself suspended for an innocent comment again, I’ll walk away and never look back, even at the expense of family connections, my business, and my mental health.
This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb
This Week By The Numbers…
153 miles
6,100’ climbing
15.1 mph avg
8,700 calories
Seat Time: 10 hours 12 minutes
Whether you ride a bike or not, thank you for taking the time to ride along this week. If you haven’t already, please scroll up and subscribe. If you like what you read, give it a like and a share. If not, just keep scrollin’. Oh, and there’s this from Leo Sayer. Enjoy…!
The picture below hung in the upstairs hallway of my childhood home. My father purchased it before I was born, so it’s been a part of my life from my earliest days.
When I was smaller, it was over my head, both in placement and intellectually. As a toddler, I’d have to strain my neck just to look at it. In time though, I’d grow taller and my eyes would better connect with the cultures of the world. I was fascinated by the people, their varying skin tones, the different clothes they wore, and the religions they represented. I would read the message over and over again…
“Do unto others as you have them do unto you…”
Even as a child this seemed like a good way to be.
When I was tall enough, I’d remove the picture from the wall and prop it up on a table in my bedroom. I’d just stare at it — getting lost in the people and the stories they represented. The picture opened my mind to the possibilities of belief. I’d always make sure to put it back exactly as I found it though, so my parents wouldn’t know I was regularly removing it.
When my parents separated, Rockwell’s Golden Rule went with my father. Dad displayed it wherever he lived, from Montana, to New Jersey, to Las Vegas where he eventually retired. When my father passed away, the painting ended up in my hands, where it remains to this day — and I still stop to take it in daily.
Fast forward several decades…
The year I turned 40, my brother suggested I read The Religions Of Man by Huston Smith (1958, now called The World’s Religions). To this day, it remains the seminal text for introducing religion to first-year college students.
The book, like the Rockwell’s panting, captivated me. Smith’s book expanded the possibilities of belief. Every time I opened World’s Religions, and every time I’d start a new chapter, I’d flash back to Rockwell’s Golden Rule — it was a way to connect that painting with the rich history of religious observance from every corner of the world.
Each time I completed a chapter of The World’s Religions, I felt a visceral bond with the religion which had been covered. When I put the book down, I felt that I had a little bit of every religion in me. On completing the book, I dubbed myself a freelance person of faith.
Through dozens more books over the next twenty years, covering every religion from Shinto, to Sikhism, to Judaism, to Zoroastrianism, and beyond, I’d always feel better connected with the religion I was studying, and very often felt it was the perfect theology for me at that time, but remained committed to my religion of one.
More recently, the last couple years, my emphasis has been on learning about Islam, which is quite infectious the deeper one dives into it. Islam is, by far, the least understood of all the Abrahamic faiths, at least in the western world. I’ll suggest that the prejudice against Islam, especially in the United States, is far greater and more intense than any prejudice against Judaism and Christianity — to the point where it’s shameful. A story for another essay.
Anyway, I was looking at the picture below yesterday, and realized that my fascination — my love of religion began with a painting which hung in the hallway of my childhood home. And with a Christian mother and a Jewish father who, despite their many differences, never said a negative word about the religion each other was raised in. We should all be so graceful in matters of faith.
This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb
This week by the numbers…
Bikes Ridden: 4
Miles: 154
Climbing: 7,800’
Mph Avg: 13.8
Calories: 8,500
Seat Time: 11 hours 11 minutes
Whether you ride a bike or not, thank you for taking the time to ride along this week. If you haven’t already, please scroll up and subscribe. If you like what you read, give it a like 👍🏻 and a share. Oh, and there’s this from The Grief Brothers. Enjoy…
For over a decade, my sidekick and I walked side-by-side at the Los Juilgeros Preserve — a 25-acre nature preserve just a mile from downtown Fallbrook. It’s a place where he enjoyed hunting for sniffs. Walking off leash from an early age, he had the freedom to roam and follow his nose, but never went too far from dad — and I never took my eyes off of him.
A few years back, around the time he turned 16, what we referred to as the Big Preserve was a little too big, and we took our walks to what we called the Little Preserve — a smaller but similar landscape, and our walks were reduced to less than a mile. And that’s where we’ve been walking for the last few years.
We don’t walk the Little Preserve anymore either. His steps are slower, his bones getting frail, and he tires easy. These days, we drive to the local school district office, which has a small park in front that’s dog friendly. I put him down, let him hunt for some sniffs, do his thing, and often he’ll lay in the sun for 5 or 10-minutes before we head home.
He still gets excited when I head to the front door, and ultimately I think that’s what it’s about — to leave the house, get in the car, and just go somewhere. When I think about it, it’s not too different than when I would take my mom to the airpark each day for lunch — just a reason to get out and see that the world is still there.
Missing the days of our longer walks, and missing the natural surroundings they took place in, I’ve been taking Stroodle once again to the Little Preserve. He doesn’t walk the trail anymore. I carry him like a little football tucked into my right arm. I carry him a few hundred yards, put him down, let him get a few sniffs, and if he’s so inclined, lay in the sun. Then I scoop him up, walk a few hundred more yards, and repeat the process until we’ve completed the 3/4 mile trail.
He’s almost 19 years old. I know this can’t go on. Each day when I wake up the first words out of my mouth are “thank you for another day“. I then ask him for one more year, but I know that’s not realistic.
It’s funny though — as old and slow as he can be when I take him for our walks, when I put on my overshirt, grab the car key, and open the front door, he jumps from the sofa like a puppy, spins a couple times, and beams with excitement. He’s my little old man and my kid, simultaneously.
This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb
This week by the numbers…
Bikes Ridden: 6
Miles: 179
Climbing: 8,000’
Mph Avg: 14.6
Calories: 10,000
Seat Time: 12 hours 11 minutes
Whether you ride a bike or not, thank you for taking the time to ride along this week. If you haven’t already, please scroll up and subscribe. If you like what you read, give it a like 👍🏻 and a share. Oh, and there’s this from John Cruz (exquisite Zimmy cover)
In a few weeks I’ll be meeting up in Victorville California with my friends Tim and Ashley. Tim and I met in 1984 at a Coast Guard recruiting office in Northglenn Colorado. Tim and I went through boot camp together, got sent back a few weeks in boot camp together, and graduated from boot camp together. Tim is as good a person as I’ve ever known, and Ashley, his wife, is too good for him.
From Victorville, we’re going to ride our bikes to Kingman Arizona. Tim and Ashley will be on a tandem bike and I’ll be on a bike yet to be determined — or yet to be purchased, depending how things unfold in the coming weeks.
It’ll be a good opportunity to decompress and gather my thoughts on the heels of my mother’s passing. I’m not sure what changes lay ahead for me after six years of caregiving, but there will certainly be a few. Riding across the Mojave will be a good time to entertain and process any would-be changes in my future.
Our agenda for the ride looks like this…
Day 1: Victorville to Barstow 30 miles
Day 2: Barstow to Ludlow 50 miles
Day 3: Ludlow to Needles 110 miles
Day: 4 Needles to Kingman 60 miles
Day 5 (optional): Kingman to Seligman 90 miles
We’ll have a truck pre-positioned in either Kingman or Seligman. From there, we’ll load up the bikes and head back to Victorville. I’m looking forward to this. I need this.
There’s not a lot of talking when you ride cross country. Maybe there’s time to tell a story here and there or crack a joke along the way. The good conversations don’t happen until the day’s ride is through. Tacos are ordered, beer gets opened, and you talk about the day’s ride, memories from the past, and those yet to come.
Maybe we’ll sleep well, maybe not. We hope to stay in a couple hotels along the way, but we’re prepared for roadside camping if the illustrious Ludlow Inn has no vacancy. No matter, we’ll wake up each morning and go. There’s no better feeling than hitting the road early on a two-lane desert highway. There’s just the rhythm of the legs, the emptiness of the mind, and all that pretty stuff that will surround us.
I explained to somebody the other day that everything I ever wanted to get out of surfing I’ve found in cycling…
Solitude
Excitement
Immersion into the environment
Escape
Challenge
Physical and mental satisfaction
I’m not sure if I’ll be blogging or even plugged in much when we’re on the road — certainly not on the day we ride from Ludlow to Needles. I’ll take a few hundred pictures along the way though, and share them on our return. Tim, who still shoots on film, is a much better photographer than me. I’m sure he’ll come up with some gems.
If all goes well, we’ll be doing a second trip from Denver to Casa de Cohen at Lake McConaughey in July. More on that later.
Though I haven’t been too active on this platform recently, I’m still writing every morning on my Spoke And Word Facebook page. If you’re interested in my daily shtick, and you should be, please check it out. Perhaps I’ll get back to writing here more in the coming weeks.
This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb
This week by the numbers…
Bikes Ridden: 7
Miles: 174
Climbing: 7,700’
Mph Avg: 15.0
Calories: 9,800
Seat Time: 11 hours 41 minutes
Whether you ride a bike or not, thank you for taking the time to ride along this week. If you haven’t already, please scroll up and subscribe. If you like what you read, give it a like 👍🏻 and a share. Oh, and there’s this from The Rave Ups. By the way, this is the first studio album by the core lineup of The Rave Ups in 30 years. It’s fantastic. Enjoy…!
What a decade so far. What a year. What a week. What a day we have ahead…
I work from home and in bare feet most days. My pantry and my refrigerator are full. My activities, which are many, take place at my whim. With the exception of an aching molar and a lack of discipline when it comes to eating cookies, I have little to complain about.
The color of my skin is consistent with not getting hassled in the public square. I have a sound mind — I guess, and at the push of a button I can change the temperature of my living room like it’s some kind of magic. I’m as far as one could possibly be from being defined as a refugee.
Though I don’t expect that I ever will be a refugee, it’s always in the back of my mind — what if…? I’ve asked myself that for many years now…
What if…? What if…? What if…?
I’m not that far from refugee status, all things considered. I don’t have a bunch in the bank. The global hate machine is making more noise than it has in decades, while many in position to curb its aggression remain strangely silent. The potential for economic disaster due to cyber terrorism, biological terrorism, or chemical terrorism have never been greater — traditional warfare notwithstanding. And even if we are able to keep those at bay, we’re long overdue for a good plague. Whoops…
Nearly every day since I saw the movie Red Dawn nearly 40 years ago, I think of Harry Dean Stanton holding fast to the wire that separated he and his sons. I often wonder if I’ll be on that wrong side of that barbed-wire someday.
I might ride a bike in a few minutes. I might not. I’ll certainly eat something good today and will take it for granted — probably something a Ukrainian refugee might not see again for years, if ever. I’ll probably nap while my housekeeper scrubs the toilets, and I’ll do some bookkeeping to keep my coin coffers full.
I’ll certainly witness some hate, most likely online, on television, and possibly some in-person hate — that’s always fun. And I contemplate as I dictate this, how I might respond to the hate I witness today — will I confront it or just ignore it like so many others do…? I dunno 🤷🏼♂️.
I have no idea what it’s like to be a refugee. Nor do I have any idea what it’s like to be a perpetrator of hate. I understand though, today more than ever, that refugees and perpetrators of hate exist in profound opposition to one another, worldwide. I’ll pray for all them. Of course not all refugees are victims of hate. Some are victims of greed. Refugees though, are never to blame for their predicament.
What if…? What if…? What if…?
This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb
This week by the numbers…
Bikes Ridden: 6
Miles: 145
Climbing: 6,100’
Mph Avg: 15.3
Calories: 8,300
Seat Time: 9 hours 28 minutes
Whether you ride a bike or not, thank you for taking the time to ride along with me today. If you haven’t already, please scroll up and subscribe. If you like what you read, give it a like and a share. If not, just keep scrollin’. Oh, and there’s this from Donna The Buffalo. Enjoy…
When I ride each day, I’m peppered by the thoughts of others. Movie lines, song lyrics, and conversations with friends keep me occupied with every mile. Some of these have been recirculating for years. There are also quotes from authors and critical thinkers I’ve read through the years. One thought that’s been making regular appearances these last few months is this nugget…
“Every generation of prosperity has it paid for by the generation or generations prior…” Jared Diamond, from Upheaval (2019).
I’m beginning to wonder if we’re a generation going through turmoil to pave the way for a generation down the road to have things better. I pretend it doesn’t get to me, but the cultural polarization we’re experiencing weighs heavy on me — every day. At times it’s so depressing I wish nothing but the worst for humanity, so we can get it over with and yield back the planet to those critters who don’t reason and have done nothing to screw things up.
If you had told me six years ago the best therapies to keep away the sadness and depression that our polarizing social behavior causes me would be photography, cycling, and spending hours a day writing, I would’ve said you pronounced alcohol wrong. But mindless observation, capture, and the documentation of my thoughts have become my medicines of choice. Oh, and some prayer and meditation to hold it all together. Collectively, these are my escape package.
It’s to the point where I spend every non-working moment medicating myself with exercise and creativity, so I can forget about the ugliness of the world and the people in the world who create that ugliness. I just want it to stop. Every time I turn on the television or pick up my phone, I’m reminded of my mother and father screaming at each other when I was a child, and I’d hide under my bed to feel safe.
Anyway, I don’t really have much to say this week. I know my photographs aren’t world class and my words are amateurish and not well edited. But it’s all I’ve got to lean on these days — it’s what keeps me going.
Oh, and I do want to say something about the folks in Washington DC too — the ones we’ve elected to help govern our country…
I wish they’d shut their mouths and do their jobs. I’m sick and tired of elected politicians opening their yaps and lying or distorting truths for the express purpose of pandering to their base, raising money, and getting reelected. They are literally killing people in the process, destroying lives, and making the country weaker for their own gain.
How hard is it to do what’s right…? I do it every fucking day of my life. If there’s an afterlife for our elected politicians, at least the ones that are in Washington today, I hope it involves getting eternally sodomized by Satan himself, with a salt-encrusted toilet plunger wrapped in barbed wire. Having a D or an R alongside their name no longer carries any weight with me. And don’t get me started on those who sit before a camera each evening lying and bending truths for the express purpose of an increased ratings share and a bigger paycheck.
If that offends you. I’ll ask your forgiveness. I’m certain I’ll be in a better state of being next week. But even I have my limits. What I’ve seen come out of Washington DC these last few weeks makes me want to cheer for the volcanoes, the hurricanes, the earthquakes, and even the fires.
This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb
This week by the numbers…
Bikes Ridden: 6
Miles: 141
Climbing: 6,100’
Mph Avg: 16.1
Calories: 8,100
Seat Time: 08 hours 43 minutes
Whether you ride a bike or not, thank you for taking the time to ride along with me today. If you haven’t already, please scroll up and subscribe. If you like what you read, give it a like and a share. If not, just keep scrollin’. Oh, and there’s this from The Mint Juleps with Ladysmith Black Mambazo . Enjoy…
When I began this endeavor six years ago, I had a simple goal — to ride my bike seven days per week, taking just one day off per month. In the beginning my rides were short, just 10-miles each. Within a few weeks though, that wasn’t enough so I began riding further, 15-miles and gradually more.
The riding app I used at that time, Map My Ride, provided a field to enter a weekly goal. Without much thought one day, I entered 100-miles as my goal. I was already doing it, so it felt like an easy mark to meet — and I’ve always believed in setting achievable goals.
Before long I was riding 125 per week, then 150, and eventually riding 175-200 miles each week. As my average weekly mileage increased though, I never amended the goal in my riding app upward. I simply exceeded my goal week after week and month after month. And that’s the thing about setting achievable goals…
…that no matter how my life might unfold in the course of a week — the good, the bad, and the ugly at all, I’d find satisfaction and maybe even some confidence in knowing that at least I accomplished one thing I set out to do.
For six years that 100-mile per week goal has been challenging at times, but always achievable. In fact, it’s only been in jeopardy when I’ve been otherwise incapacitated due to the bike itself — finding myself in urgent care, emergency rooms, and laid up in bed nursing the occasional broken clavicle, sprained ankle, or fractured wrist. And even in those instances, I’ve somehow managed to get 100-miles in each week.
And this is something I’ve never shared before…
…at some point along the way, and I don’t remember when, I upped the stakes for my goal. I didn’t increase my weekly mileage, but I made the commitment to myself that I’d meet the 100-mile mark every week for the rest of my life, come rain, shine, or tonsillitis, and I meant it.
Now it may be hard to envision a 95-year-old man riding a bicycle 100-miles per week. If I’m being honest though, I’ve never seen myself becoming a 95-year-old man. If I hit my mid-70s I will have exceeded all expectations — from God, most everyone on my friends list, and even myself. So for the last few years, I’ve been riding with the belief that I’ll ride 100-miles every week for the rest of my life.
This past week was the first time that 100-mile goal was truly in jeopardy. Due to a COVID scare set in motion buy a selfish client, I lost a couple of days. When yesterday’s workday came to an end I was at 99.27 miles for the week. I was also physically exhausted, mentally drained, and dozing off in between bites of my 3pm lunch. But I couldn’t let the streak go.
At 3:30pm, and feeling as lifeless as a 30-pound cat on muscle relaxants, I dragged myself off the sofa, prepped a bike, and hit the road — utterly and completely exhausted. And the streak lives on.
I honestly don’t know if I’ll be able to meet that 100-mile goal each week for the rest of my life, but I’m sure gonna try. The situation with my mother might prohibit it, and of course that would be okay. I might get the opportunity to travel someday — and that travel might not include a bicycle. I’ll address that when and if it presents itself. I might also be stricken with a disease or find myself in hospital emergency room yet again. I dunno 🤷🏼♂️
Sometimes meeting a goal though, is simply the coming together of an achievable goal and a reasonable commitment to meet it. As I sit here this morning, those things are in place. Maybe the weirdest thing about setting a goal like this is that I’m fortunate enough to achieve it, I won’t be around to celebrate it. Weird, huh…?
This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb
This week by the numbers…
Bikes Ridden: 4
Miles: 123
Climbing: 5,200’
Mph Avg: 16.6
Calories: 7,100
Seat Time: 07 hours 25 minutes
Whether you ride a bike or not, thank you for taking the time to ride along with me today. If you haven’t already, please scroll up and subscribe. If you like what you read, give it a like and a share. If not, just keep scrollin’. Oh, and there’s this from Sleeping At Last. Enjoy…
With 2021 closing out, I want express my gratitude to everyone who takes time to read this.
Many people are glad 2021 is almost over — as though 2022 comes with an antidote for all which we’ll leave behind. Probably not. People speak of 2021 in terms of profound negativity — polarization, COVID, and the general tenor of our nation. I’d be lying if I said those don’t impact me also, but they don’t represent my year.
This was another above average year for me, and one of my best years of the last 20. I’m grateful for the richness it provided, as well as the opportunities, blessings, and so many positive human interactions. When I count my blessings at the end of each day, and I do count them, the lists in 2021 were always long.
Of course not everything went my way in 2021. I cried a lot, felt rage more than I care to admit, and I endured my share of despair. Sometimes I experienced all of those simultaneously. And to be honest, there were days I didn’t want to go on. Some of my darks days were at the will of circumstances beyond my control, while others were due to my own poor choices. When I quantify the past year though — using the proverbial list of pros and cons, 2021 has been net-positive.
I remain surrounded by more of everything than I will ever want or need. I live in a charming house. I’m located in a beautiful community. I have easy access to services, sustenance, and safety. Through the eyes of most of the world, I live like a king.
I earn a good living, I have more friends than I deserve, I have loving of animals around constantly, and I get to spend valued time with my mother daily. I also get to spend time outdoors about as often as I wish. When the clock strikes midnight this Saturday, I will have been on my bike 345 times in 2021.
For a guy who can honestly refer to the 8th grade as my senior year, I couldn’t ask for more — so I don’t. If anything, I have so much I should be actively be pursuing less. I guess I do pursue a little less with each passing year.
At a time when people are busy typing into their phones, posting memes, and being mean and hyper-critical of other people who are also typing into their phones being mean and hyper-critical of others still, I enjoy and appreciate the technology that connects me with people from northern England, Germany, Australia, upstate New York, and even Poughkeepsie. I don’t get drawn into much online negativity because I learned long ago to peek through the window before I open the door. I choose peaceful windows.
I know there will be tears, rage, heartache, and sadness for me in 2022. I also know that as I experience them, I’ll always feel like I’m at rock bottom. But goodness, I remind myself daily, enters my life through larger and more frequent doors than the badness. And that goodness, tends to linger longer than the bad stuff.
I hope that 2022 brings you peace, joy, laughter, and love. And I’ll remind you that if you’re not looking for it, you may not find it — but that doesn’t mean it’s not there.
I’ll close out my 2021 blogging experience as I do every year, with the most formative line from any movie I’ve ever seen. And I recite this to myself daily…
“And in the end, I realized that I took more than I gave, that I was trusted more than I trusted, and that I was loved more than I loved. And in the end, I realized that what I was looking for was not to be found, but to be created…”
John Hughes, from She’s Having A Baby…
This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb
2021 By The Numbers…
Bikes Ridden: 17
Flat Tires: 34
Seat time : 591 hours 45 minutes
Climbing: 397,600’
Average Speed: 15.1
Calories Burned: 517,050
Total Miles: 9,050
Whether you ride a bike or not, thank you for taking the time to ride along with me today. If you haven’t already, please scroll up and subscribe. If you like what you read, give it a like and a share. If not, just keep scrollin’. Oh, and there’s this from Brenton Wood. Enjoy…
The Spoke And Word™ 