Top Of The Hill

I’m sharing some excerpts from my in-progress manuscript about Rich’s Ride. You can check out previous posts here.

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Some hills never end.

That, of course, is a lie. Even the longest, steepest hill leads to an eventual summit. The pain and struggle always end. You crank up a difficult ascent with faith and hope, with confident assurance that perseverance will be rewarded.

Cycling uphill is a pretty good metaphor for the difficult seasons of life. The enemy attacks those facing serious disease, grief, or financial struggles with the illusion of an infinite, never-ending climb. Staring up an apparently endless incline is one of life’s most discouraging experiences, because when you can’t see the top it’s easy to imagine it’s really not there. What’s the point of persevering toward an apparently nonexistent goal?

When there’s no end in sight it’s easy to give up, but faith provides this encouraging reality:

There’s a top to EVERY hill.

The second week of RICH’S RIDE began in the southern suburbs of St. Paul. Chilly, gray, drizzle greeted us at sunrise but gradually faded as we left the hotel and unloaded the bike beneath a service station’s protective canopy. After a three-day weekend of speaking gigs and much needed rest I felt recharged and anxious to get moving.

We already knew the day promised a chance to practice our commitment to flexibility. A spring flood destroyed several bridges a few miles south, diverting all vehicles into a major highway construction project with narrowed lanes and no shoulders. Internet sites described cycling in this construction zone as “dangerous and strongly discouraged.” Maps didn’t indicate a viable detour.

I met Becky about thirty minutes later where the road repairs began. While we discussed options a construction worker stopped his pickup and asked if we needed help. Becky explained our dilemma and asked if he knew of a safer alternative to this six mile construction zone. He suggested riding on the other side of the river and described an obscure detour along back roads to a bridge that crossed into Wisconsin. We found the rickety old river bridge and entered our second state of the ride.

Our personalized bypass led to a lightly traveled two-lane blacktop. Eastern Wisconsin greeted us with striking beauty, wonderful early-fall colors, and quiet, peaceful surroundings. The road twisted through thick forests and orchards that provided great cycling scenery and poor traffic flow. Only local vehicles bothered with the meandering route on the eastern side of the river. We accidently discovered a perfect route except for one minor detail.

In Wisconsin, we met some serious hills.

These were different from the ups and downs we encountered during the first week of the ride. The designers clearly didn’t consider my skinny arms when they created a lovely farm road that snaked along an unbroken succession of long, difficult climbs and exciting descents. Since every mile-plus uphill section led to a corresponding downhill it seems like descents should balance out climbs. But in practice that’s not how it works. I spent virtually the entire day climbing, and struggled with mental challenge and cumulative physical effects as one ascent followed on the heels of another.

To illustrate, I spent about fifteen minutes climbing one particular mile-long hill, then flew down the other side in three minutes. Repeating that result ten times in a row covers twenty miles—ten uphill and ten down—in three hours. That’s half an hour coasting downhill and two-and-a-half hours climbing. That’s why it seems like you’re crawling uphill most of the time—you are!

I spent more than five hours of riding time to cover forty miles of hills. It was the toughest, longest day of cycling I’d ever done. But before this begins to sound like complaining, look at this blog excerpt from that day:

Becky waited as I crept slowly to the top of one especially difficult climb. “How was it?”

“It was tough.” Then I smiled. “And I’m really glad we’re here.”

This is why we came. We didn’t prepare and plan and train to do easy, flat trails. There’s plenty of that at home. I could be sitting in an office, or staring at a ball game on TV. This is exactly where I want to be.

I feel great. We’ve been blessed with wonderful weather—though I wouldn’t mind if the wind blew a little more from the north. We’re working hard at something we believe in. We’re touching hearts.

When you’re fortunate enough to be in the middle of something like that, you don’t mind a few hills.

Sometimes life’s like cycling in those Wisconsin hills. We all encounter seasons when it seems like it’s a continual grind up an endless ascent. But the endless part isn’t true. Even when the summit’s around the corner and you’re discouraged and tempted to quit because you’re certain the climb will never end, it’s good to remember, in cycling and in life, that there’s a top to EVERY hill.

Cycling those hills taught me that the climbs are a valuable part of the ride. I’m tempted to imagine the obvious pleasures of a route without ascents—speed without effort and gain without pain. Why can’t cycling consist solely of exhilarating descents?

On that eastern Wisconsin day I cranked through spectacular surroundings past idyllic farms and lush woods hinting at changing fall colors. But zooming downhill, I hardly noticed any of that. Blasting along at twenty-five mph with my backside four inches off the ground, there wasn’t much opportunity to check out the scenery.

Climbing was slower and harder, but that’s when I noticed the beauty around me. There’s a significant difference between enjoying the difficulty and appreciating the opportunities it provides. A friend once reminded me, “Life ain’t all about bein’ easy.”

Downhill’s the more dangerous part of the ride—and perhaps of life. Fast increases the potential consequences of a mistake. Easy incites a wandering mind, precisely when focus is most essential. Smooth provides temptation to coast and lose sight of the prize. Too much unearned progress creates a sense of entitlement that makes the next climb even harder.

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. (James 1:2-4)

I’ve struggled with this verse, that day helped me understand that the hills are a gift. You have to learn to appreciate and embrace all parts of the ride. I still don’t enjoy or look forward to cranking up long, challenging ascents. But I understand that they’re part of the journey for a reason. Greater challenge offers greater opportunity to grow and develop.

Nobody gets stronger riding downhill. Pressure and resistance enhance mental and physical toughness and endurance. Challenge fosters character and courage. “All downhill” sounds fun, but there’s a shallowness to a life filled with hollow thrills devoid of authentic, earned achievement. Greater challenge offers greater opportunity. The hills of eastern Wisconsin offered just about all the opportunity I could handle.

There’s a top to EVERY hill.

Please leave a comment here.

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If you’ve enjoyed the updates from Rich’s Ride, please check out my blog at BOUNCING BACK.

We’ve got a great circle of folks who look at living life on purpose and following Jesus in the real world. I hope you’ll join us.

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