Living in my Granny Gear

 

Just like many of you, I have a bucket list. I don't pay it active attention--it doesn't really fuel my adventures. But in the back of my head there are things I think "wow. I should do that someday." Hike in the Arctic tundra, see the Taj Majal, run a marathon or two, learn to row. 

Some of these I have done. Others are still in the "to do" list.

Last week, I knocked one more off the list: a solo bicycle trip.

I had exactly 5 days to do this. I chose to head north from Boston up through New Hampshire, across the Green Mountains, to northern Vermont, and end at my Aunt's lake house in the Northeast Kingdom. Then, Bill could come pick me up and drive me home, thus avoiding the anticlimactic "I'm going home" feeling that comes with any return trip.

It seemed reasonable when I set out, but like all things reasonable, there were some oversights in the planning:

I forgot to factor in the "across the Green Mountains" part.
I also forgot to factor in the saddle sores.
And the sunburns.
And the fact that dirt roads in Vermont do not always show up on GPS as dirt roads.

I learned a lot on that bike trip.

There is no gear lower than the granny gear.
If you are in your granny gear and the hill gets steeper, pedal harder.
If it gets steeper again, don't look up. (This is REALLY IMPORTANT)

If it keeps going and you think you might die, count 8 revolutions of your pedals.
If you haven't reached the top, count another 8 revolutions.
Repeat as necessary.
If you think you cannot count to 8 for 6 hours straight, you are wrong.

Watches and other time keeping devices mean nothing. You may as well turn them off.
Vermont roads with names like "Mountain Road" aren't kidding.
GPS reception is not infallable.
Getting lost in the mountains sometimes adds both mileage and elevation to a planned ride.
"Mountain Road" is probably not the best short cut to take.

When it is too hot, and you are too tired to eat anything, but you need to consume 4000 calories, chocolate milk is your friend.
If you are still thirsty after the chocolate milk, Gatorade is great.
If you spend days on end biking alone, you start thinking that chocolate milk and Gatorade is the liquor of the gods.
Do not make the mistake of saying this outloud. You will get strange looks as mothers pull their children to the other side of the street.

It turns out that 6 to 8 hours a day, alone, on a bike, is enough time to get lost in your head. And that is a hell of a place to get lost. If you don't like the company you are in, you have a problem.

Getting up every day, sore and achey from the day before requires no effort. Turn off your brain and do it. Habits are born of this.

The best moment:
There was nothing like biking down that final dirt road leading to Aunt Kathy's, and knowing that the lake was right in front of me, and my butt would be saddle free in only moments. I felt strong. Invincible. Incredible. Smelly.

Seriously, though? I learned I can do anything. At that moment when I really thought I could not keep going, I reached inside and found a molecule of hope which allowed me to do just a little bit more.

It is that same molecule that allows athletes to break previous best times, to beat other teams, to set world records.

And it is the same molecule of hope that a midwife reminds the laboring mother she has inside of herself. And it is that molecule of hope that brings babies into this world.