Looking both ways Part I: Pedal pusher

Posted by Guest | September 23, 2008 | 25 Comments

Geo has spent more years in more schools than you have, but has yet to finish an actual degree. Her insightful husband is sure she has ADD, and she is sure she needs a key lime tart from Kneaders. A devoted lover of said adorable husband, public libraries, film, thrift shopping, walking, bike riding, photography, knitting and more crafts than really ought to be mentioned, oral history, cooking, and of course, writing, she has plenty of reasons to stay awake into the wee hours. Geo and her husband run Tryst Press, a letterpress studio in their home sweet hometown of Provo, UT, and together they have recently begun to explore amateur filmmaking and podcasting. Geo blogs On Bright Street. Thanks Geo!

It’s amazing how much effort it takes sometimes to get the wheels turning. When I was younger and more naive, I had a painful introduction to mountain bikes. It started when an acquaintance set me up with his friend. K. was a long-time mountain biker and racer. I had grown up cycling too . . . with a banana seat, coaster brakes, kickstand, plastic basket, metal bell, handgrip streamers, colored spoke-straws, and sparkly purple paint job. As a teen I graduated to a slightly taller version, deep green, without the extras; I thought it was sophisticated. I effortlessly rode the lush flat loop roads near my home in the Deep South. Only after I moved to mountainous Utah did the ability to shift gears become a concern for me, but I still didn’t have to break a sweat; my western wheels were attached to a VW Bug.

K. and I lived in neighboring cities. Once he rode to see me, we went out in my Bug, and later on I dropped him home. The next morning I decided it was time to get back into cycling and take him his bike. I hoped to impress him with a long-distance delivery, complete with an easy smile and a healthy glow. I straddled the too-tall frame and aimed it north toward K.’s. It was a lovely rolling route, uncultivated and uninterrupted by development. The road was not a smooth stretch; it proved a more strenuous ride than I’d anticipated. What was my problem? Altitude? No, I was afraid to shift gears. I didn’t understand dérailleurs and didn’t want to upset K. by altering his arrangement, and so I left the bike in the last gear he had used.

The trip turned torturous as I rounded a corner and started uphill. The road was steep. Limited by my determination to make the trip in a single gear, I saw only one practical alternative: to dismount and push the bike—but that would have meant defeat, so I rejected it. I stood up on the wrong side of the toe clips (I was scared of those too) and strained downward on the pedals. It’s a wonder I didn’t collapse into traffic. I avoided looks from passing motorists as I wobbled and crawled. Beyond the hill’s last sloping orchard, my hot face red as an apple and my body reduced to steaming sauce, I reached the crest and rested until I could breathe normally. No way would I show up at K.’s looking as beaten as I felt. I was proud of myself. My heart pounded but the last few blocks were mercifully easy. I stumbled off the bike and parked it with trembling hands, then straightened myself and rang his doorbell. He greeted me with charmed surprise: “You rode all the way up here?” His new girlfriend was a biker! It was all so gratifying until I assured him I hadn’t disturbed his gears.

First he laughed at me, incredulous. Then his temper derailed and he lectured me hard about the potential horrors done to a bicycle’s shifting system when it’s operated incorrectly, not to mention the miserable injuries to a rider’s body. Shamed and persuaded, I quickly got familiar with his Shimano gears. Soon after I even bought my own mountain bike.

I wish I could say I also learned a deeper lesson that day, but it was four years before I said goodbye to the racer, and longer before I could clearly see that often I created my own difficulties in life by yielding to fears—of the unknown, of failure, of others. There were many hills I had struggled up because I hadn’t understood, explored, or trusted tools already in my hands—and wouldn’t venture subtle shifts in attitude, speed, or technique that could have made my journey pleasant and streamlined my travel.

Even though I ride my bike properly now, I don’t move quickly up inclines. Sometimes I get off and walk the steepest parts. Occasionally my chain derails as I switch gears. None of that matters. I take my time. I enjoy the ride. I appreciate the process. When self-knowledge, curiosity, and change are prized, the shift comes naturally.

Category: Daily Special

Comments

25 Responses to “Looking both ways Part I: Pedal pusher”

Dalene
September 23rd, 2008 @ 6:56 am

Lovely post Geo. Thank you.

I’m still afraid to shift the gears.
MJ
September 23rd, 2008 @ 9:19 am

Good story, Geo. Would like to lose that fear too!
Jennifer B.
September 23rd, 2008 @ 9:23 am

Boy, you were persistent! Lovely post.
cornnut32
September 23rd, 2008 @ 9:34 am

it’s so great that you can take that experience and apply it to more important things. (i’d probably just stop riding bikes. oh wait, i have.) thank you for sharing your thoughts!
Sue
September 23rd, 2008 @ 9:52 am

I have a one speed. That way I don’t even have to contemplate switching gears. That probably says something about me. What, I don’t know. But something.
Becca
September 23rd, 2008 @ 10:18 am

I love this post: insightful and beautifully written.
Anna
September 23rd, 2008 @ 11:25 am

I second Becca, it’s like a very rich little wild strawberry; teeny, and bursting with flavor.
Geo
September 23rd, 2008 @ 11:30 am

Thanks so much, ladies!

To the dear shifting chickens: You can always practice in an empty parking lot for a while before throwing yourselves into traffic.

Jennifer B. That’s a much nicer way of saying “hardhead”!

Cornnut, have you ever tried doubling on the handlebars? THAT’S exciting.

Sue, maybe you’re just very good at seeking level ground. That is a great skill in an of itself.

Becca, you’re on my team.
Maralise
September 23rd, 2008 @ 12:23 pm

I was thinking as I read this that I wish I had read this many years ago (I NEEDED to hear those lessons). But, I probably wouldn’t have listened, wouldn’t have heard what you were trying to say. I’m ready to listen now. Thank you.
Tiffany
September 23rd, 2008 @ 1:39 pm

Lovely post. I had a bike in Sweden that only have three gears. It made shifting so easy and comfortable. I miss my bike so much.
Emily M.
September 23rd, 2008 @ 2:06 pm

This is what I have to do whenever I am pregnant or have a new baby or some kind of crisis: shift gears. But it’s so hard to not feel like I’m failing when I do, do you know what I mean? It’s scary to give myself permission to slow down, because I know from experience that it’s hard to get back up to speed.

Great post.
wendy
September 23rd, 2008 @ 4:23 pm

I love the analogy, Geo. For some reason my earlier comment that said just that didn’t show up. I really enjoyed it. I don’t think I’m doing the gear shifting parts of life very well, but lately I have started picking up a little speed. I’m curious to read Part II.
Geo
September 24th, 2008 @ 12:12 am

Anna, it takes one to know one.

Maralise, it took me years as well just to get to the point of recognition. It’s still a daily lesson to apply it.

Tiffany, seems like you’d be in a good spot for biking now. Are you mainly pedestrian?

Emily, I know EXACTLY what you mean. It’s hard to regain what feels like lost ground.

Wendy, I’m be curious to know what you (and others here) consider shifting gears.
wendy
September 24th, 2008 @ 10:13 am

Shifting gears . . . maybe I would define it loosely as rolling with life’s punches, taking change in stride, adjusting my perceptions to fit new circumstances, things along those lines.

Your final statement got me this morning:

“When self-knowledge, curiosity, and change are prized, the shift comes naturally.”

I definitely value self-knowledge, and in spite of blind spots, I think I do pretty well with that.

I don’t value change that I wasn’t planning on or hoping for. For example, I have no problems uprooting myself for a new adventure, but I don’t want to be uprooted when it’s “forced” upon me.

My value of curiosity has been depleted over the last several years. This whole adoption thing (the laborious wait, the disappointments along the way, etc.) and some other things have really thrown me off the bike, if you will. I see myself being curious about our son’s life, eager to see him grow, wondering (not fearing) how we will need to stretch to meet his needs, become better parents, etc., but for myself I want stability and healing. I don’t want to climb any hills for a while. I don’t want to have to push harder than I’ve been pushing, and I’d really like some of the pressure to be relieved. I feel much more fear than curiosity these past several years, so shifting is one of my biggest struggles right now.

I’m thinking that sounds quite morose, but it’s a pretty accurate description of that aspect of my life. Other parts of me are happy, grateful, hopeful, so it’s not like I wallow every day, but this little undercurrent of fear has been hard to overcome.

I think the “picking up speed” I mentioned in my previous comment is a part of the process of overcoming, so I think I’m getting there. But at this point, not prizing curiosity or change has got me kind of wobbly.
wendy
September 24th, 2008 @ 10:23 am

Okay, so I’m feeling kind of vulnerable putting it all out there like that, but I guess, “there you have it.”
Geo
September 24th, 2008 @ 10:33 pm

Wendy, you don’t sound at all morose or wallowing to me. I love your honest evaluation and that you were willing to share it. I get it. I know that mix. It takes constant work, this rooting out fear thing. Maybe we should start our own biking club. The Shifty Ladies?
wendy
September 24th, 2008 @ 11:28 pm

I wish we lived closer to each other, Geo. The Shifty Ladies sounds great!
Alisa
September 25th, 2008 @ 4:15 pm

Geo,
My mom sent me the link to this and I’m so glad she did. I really enjoyed reading it. One of my all time favorite quotes is by Joseph Campbell…”We must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” Your article embodies what I think I love about that quote.
I also cycle a little. I was riding in one of the hardest elevation climbs I’ve ever ridden in this past August. My bike has I don’t even know how many gears…I’m guessing 20. It’s so confusing and yes I too have been scared of not wanting to “disturb” the gears, that I’ve always ridden by only using gears on my right hand. During this ride I was going up this STEEP climb and I was doing my normal one-handed gear shifting and people were just flying by me. All ages, shapes and sizes. I just couldn’t keep up. Finally a guy rode by me, looked back and hollered “You are wasting so much energy in the wrong gear!” That did it. My gear experimention began. That was just the beginning of the climbing I would do on that ride and I used every gear I had. I even derailed once (another huge fear of mine) and two nice ladies stopped and helped me get my bike back together. They even thanked me at the end for giving them a reason to get off their bike and take a break! One of those same ladies that helped me fix my bike gave me even more advice…that I wasn’t pushing my heal down hard enough while peddling. When I tried her technique it relieved my aching knee. I really appreciated the advice I received on that ride. Although unsolicited and from strangers I am so glad they took the time to give me, a complete stranger, advice that saved my ride.
For what ever reasons, I have been let down by close friends and family in my life that I think should have been more reliable in my times of need. But I am so grateful for the strangers that have done so much with out even knowing they’ve given me anything.
Thanks for your wonderful article and thanks for being a good friend to my mom. She needs you!
Elizabeth
September 29th, 2008 @ 10:30 pm

Thanks, Georgia. I liked the analogy.
Geo
October 1st, 2008 @ 11:35 am

Alisa—I’m SO glad you took the time to visit and share that wonderful comment. I love that Joseph Campbell quote too. It’s a constant challenge to remember and accept it.

Your story about your big ride last August is fantastic. I love this shifting analogy and you just taught me a bunch more about it. So much to ponder . . . .

You are right that oftentimes help and support come in the most unexpected ways. We really have to be on the lookout for those kinds of opportunities to be God’s hands for other people. Thank you for reminding me of that. I think you’re terrific.

And as for being your mom’s friend . . . it’s my pleasure! I love her so much. And by the way, I love all her kids too.

Elizabeth—thanks!
Lindsey Bowen
October 2nd, 2008 @ 3:09 pm

Thanks for reminding us to enjoy the ride. It’s funny how sometimes those childhood lessons apply to us even as adults! There are still several fears I wish I could overcome. Keep writing, you have a gift!
Cou Russ
October 2nd, 2008 @ 3:31 pm

It’s nice to hear more about your life.
Geo
October 6th, 2008 @ 4:14 pm

Lindsey—Thanks for the encouragement! I think life is one big long pitching of fears. Can we ever get to the very last one in this life?

Russ—Hey, cousin-in-code! Thanks for being interested!
Blog Segullah : Looking both ways Part III: Crash course
October 7th, 2008 @ 6:37 am

[...] of “Looking both ways” by our Geo, who blogs On Bright Street. You can find I and II here and here respectively. Thanks again dear [...]
Miki
November 7th, 2008 @ 3:54 pm

Hello Geo, what a touching and illuminating story. It’s hard to dare “color outside the line” the first time. But the more a person keeps “pitching out fears” as one comment said, the braver one gets about doing it again….thank you for sharing that :>) -Miki