I’ve done a bit of climbing recently on my bike.
Horsetooth. Maniac Hill. South Marina. Bingham Hill.
It’s a new thing for me. Nothing spectacular, not like the real climbs Becky and my other cycling friends do all the time for fun. But like any other sort of training, you start small and build up.
Why?
I’m creeping toward 41,000 miles since I started cranking a handcycle in 1999. The majority of those miles have been on fairly flat terrain. If I choose my routes carefully, I can ride pretty much all the “flat” miles I want.
Since I’m riding for the kids at the Home of Hope, I decided I wanted my rides to represent a bit more of a sacrifice. Cranking slowly up a difficult climb is a symbol. It reminds me of the struggle our kids endure every single day.
I’m under no illusion that I’ll ever cruise up mountain passes. Lugging a 60-lb bike and my 70-year-old broken body up steep climbs will always be a grind.
This whole crazy adventure began with a 2-block ride that took 30 minutes. Amazing what can happen when you take things a day at a time, work together, do what you can, where you are, with what you have, and trust God for the outcome.