I’m sharing some excerpts from my in-progress manuscript about Rich’s Ride. You can check out previous posts here.
Before we get to this week’s excerpt, I have some exciting news. If you haven’t heard already, RICH’S RIDE is getting back on the road again. Here’s what we know so far.
Aaron Smith of Venture Cycling has invited me to join a team for a 500-mile ride from Cincinnati to Washington, DC. The ride is sponsored by and raises awareness for International Justice Mission (IJM), which works to combat and raise awareness about slavery and sexual exploitation. Project dates are July 12-23, 2012, which included some days for training and speaking and six actual riding days.
I’ll share more info when I know it. For now, I can’t wait to get on the road again.
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I looked forward to the Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge since the beginning of the ride. My Google search for scenic riverfront routes returned surprisingly few options, but an intriguing web page convinced me that I didn’t want to miss the St Louis Riverfront Trail and its Mississippi River crossing at the Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge. However, like many pre-planned episodes of the trip, reaching this historic landmark wasn’t quite as simple as I imagined.
Saturday in St Louis was a rest day. We stayed downtown directly across from the Gateway Arch, courtesy of our new friend Rich McClure, president of Unicorp. It was a great day to just unwind, explore downtown St Louis, shop, and gawk with the other tourists at the incredible Arch that marked the midway point in our journey.
Sunday morning brought a beautiful sunrise and a trip to a church in Alton, Illinois. The plan was to speak there and ride the Illinois side of the river to a trail that connected to the Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge. The weather was perfect. The route was well-marked on my map. I’d do about thirty miles, cross the river, and complete the ride at the base of the Arch. It was the ideal way to commemorate the halfway point of our epic journey.
Beautiful. Perfect. Well-marked. Ideal. Those words should have been sufficient warning, but I’m a slow learner.
We enjoyed a wonderful morning in Alton. One amazing aspect of visiting and speaking in so many different churches is remembering that Jesus doesn’t live in your little building and worship culture. It’s one of those things you say, but when you attend the same church with the same people every week it’s easy to forget Jesus is worshiped and loved by different people in different ways. It reminds me that it’s not how or where we worship, but Who we worship, that matters. The folks in Alton were kind and welcoming and made us feel like part of the family. When you’ve been away from home, dealing with a lot of stress, you forget how much you miss that feeling.
The road along the Illinois side of the river was just as beautiful as advertised—a busy four-lane, lots of Sunday traffic, but nice, wide shoulders. The atmosphere was more hectic than usual because as I traveled south hundreds of cyclists pedaled north as part of a one-day century ride. Between the motorcycles, the Sunday drivers, the cyclists, and everyone gazing at all the sights, it was a bit of a distracting, circus-type atmosphere. It was one of those stretches where Becky lived with fear, but I really enjoyed the ride.
As I cranked along I realized my attention was oddly diverted. As I watched the cyclists traveling in the opposite direction, I caught myself wondering who had the easier ride. I rode slightly downhill with the river, but into a fairly strong breeze. They had the opposite conditions. So I wondered whether I’d rather ride downhill into the wind or uphill with it. Which was easier? As I realized what I was thinking, I thought about how silly the question seemed.
First, it didn’t matter. Unless I planned to turn around, I had my path and they had theirs. Wondering who had the easier task was absolutely pointless.
Second, easier isn’t the point. If I wanted easy I could have stayed home and played video games. The point is to travel well and appreciate my path. Four weeks had passed so quickly, and soon we’d be finished. I wanted to enjoy each moment of this amazing journey without wasting time on pointless speculation.
Finally, by focusing on someone else’s task I looked to my left. Meanwhile, a beautiful stretch of shining water passed unnoticed on my right. This was a scene I’d likely never see again, and I was missing it because I wondered about what someone else was doing.
This sort of comparing is simply wasteful activity. Its only function is taking attention from what’s before me. It’s really an excuse. As long as I’m concerned with someone else who might have more or less, I don’t have to dig into my own work.
What matters isn’t the other guy’s path. What matters is moving forward toward my own goals. Anything that distracts me from pursuing my dream needs to be discarded.
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About fifteen miles down the road I passed through a small town and a park that connected to a trail. The trail follows the top of a series of levees, and every mile or so the trail descends and then ascends again to accommodate a break in the levee for a service road. It’s actually a cool way to construct a trail system—mostly.
Apparently there’s a problem at those service road intersections. Signs instruct cyclists to slow down, yield, but we all know how that works. Since those roads are seldom-used the bikes become accustomed to ignoring the warnings, and I imagine there’ve been a few nasty accidents. At one intersection I encountered a creative attempt at a solution.
It seemed so innocent. I cranked along the top of the levee, king of my world, enjoying the afternoon warmth. I saw the sign indicating an approaching descent, slowed a bit, and rolled over the edge. The idea was to force cyclists to dismount and walk through the gate that created a sharp turn that couldn’t be navigated any other way. It was quite a simple and ingenious solution, except that the turn was too sharp for the handcycle’s long turning radius. Of course I didn’t discover this fact until I was halfway through the gate. I was hopelessly stuck.
I couldn’t back up the steep hill, and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway because there was no way around the gate. I tried rocking back and forth, but I got nowhere. Afternoon became late afternoon as I sat hopelessly trapped by this “safety” gate. After about thirty minutes another cyclist appeared.
“Are you stuck?”
I never cease to be amazed by the unintentionally stupid questions people ask or by my inclination to respond sarcastically. I resisted the impulse to say that I was here intentionally because I actually enjoyed the scenery and it was a nice break from riding my bike. The guy was really very kind and managed to free me from my trap. He also informed me that there were two more similar barriers waiting down the trail.
So I abandoned the bike path, found a busy road with practically no shoulder, and risked life and limb for a couple of miles. Beautiful. Perfect. Well-marked. Ideal.
Finally I caught up with Becky, who couldn’t figure out why I was riding in traffic when I had access to a perfectly good bike trail. I told her about the safety gates. She’d been watching on the GPS. “So that’s why it looked like you were sitting in one place.” Once more I resisted that urge to respond sarcastically. At least that’s how I remember it.
At this point Becky suggested that it might be wise to pack up for the day and complete this ride in the morning. She was probably right. Afternoon was fading along with my positive attitude, and the path along the levees wasn’t as easy to follow as that “well-marked” map indicated. But I was determined to complete my perfect plan, cross the Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge, and finish the day triumphantly at the Gateway Arch.
Determination is a good thing. Mostly.
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Beautiful. Perfect. Well-marked. Ideal.
There were very few times during the eight weeks of RICH’S RIDE when I actually felt frightened and in danger. The next hour or so brought one of those occasions.
The levees wandered away from the main roads, and as evening approached it became a little more difficult to be certain I followed the correct path. In a few spots pavement turned to gravel, which made pedaling harder and the path even more vague. Finally I reached a road which I felt pretty certain would lead me to the Old Chain of Rocks Bridge, though I’d have been more confident if there had actually been a sign confirming that fact. Sunlight was fading. I had to decide. So I turned right and headed down an unmarked two lane road. After a few hundred yards I came to a one lane bridge marked by a rather ominous sign: Chouteau Island. Closed dusk to dawn.
Now you’re thinking exactly what I should have been thinking. It’s getting dark. I have no clue where I am. I’m about to cross a rickety one-lane bridge to nowhere, and nowhere closes at dusk. Anyone in their right mind would have stopped. But I was determined, so up and over this creaky old bridge I went.
Chouteau Island looked like maybe no one had ever lived there. The moment I exited that ancient bridge in the fast-fading light I knew I’d made a mistake. Whether I was lost or not I had no business being out here. In a few minutes it was going to be dark and I suddenly remembered the dangerous reputation of East St Louis. I didn’t feel quite so determined any more.
Phone call. Where are you? I don’t know. I see you on the GPS. I’ll come back over the bridge. Whew! There’s the trailer. We hugged in relief. We both knew I pushed it too far. There were no recriminations, no “I told you so’s.”
There’s a fine line that divides perseverance from stupid risk, and I don’t think that line’s always clear. It’s easy in hindsight to distinguish stubbornness from tenacity, but in the line of fire it’s not always simple. God’s not safe, and neither are God-inspired dreams. When you’re chasing a dream you take some risks, and you just do your best to find courage without recklessness.
However, on that Sunday evening I did find one clear distinction. When it’s getting dark and you’re about to cross a dilapidated single lane bridge with a sign that says: Chouteau Island. Closed dusk to dawn, you’re probably about to cross from determined into stupid.
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