The rain continues to fall.
It is 8:00 a.m. and it seems that all the bikers have now left camp. Many were holding out, waiting for the rain
to subside, but that’s not going to happen any time soon. The sky is gray. This is probably the latest many of them have
left camp in the morning. With only a
60-mile day, they should have plenty of time.
Oh, nope, two more riders just left.
I’m hearing the first thunder of the day and spotted some lightning as
well. Hmm. That’s not good.
I’m sitting in the second-row captain’s chair of our van
with my right leg resting on a rolled-up sleeping bag where the other captain’s
chair would normally be. The rain pelts
against the roof, splatters off the windshield and runs down the side
windows. I don’t mind being inside where
it is dry, but I wish I were out participating in the full, intended experience
of biking all the way across the country.
One of the younger riders assured me that this is one day when I should
be glad I didn’t have to ride.
I’ve thought about whether or not I should have returned to
the ride following my fall. Mind you, I’ve
thought about it, but I have not second-guessed our decision. I wrote in an earlier post about my questions
about purpose and contribution. It
dawned on me the other day, that when we were fundraising, we told people we
were going the whole way—from LA to New York City via Toronto and
Montreal. By remaining with the tour, we
are both keeping that pledge. During the
first weeks of the ride, a common question was, “Are you here to the end?” I noticed some people’s response and made this
my answer as well: “That’s the plan!” The word “plan”
has taken on a whole new meaning on Sea to Sea.
Obviously my plan of riding the whole thing has changed, but we’ve
learned to go with the flow of the day or week in many regards. Routes change. Eating times change. Camping locations change. Dinner plans change. Riding groups change. On a trip like this, you would expect some
sort of routine to form. Flexibility has become our routine. Believe me, the contradiction of these terms
has not gone unnoticed! Some have
adjusted to this environment better than others.
My situation with crutches and a straight leg has been a big
change not just for me, but for Rudy as well.
He has been wonderful since we
rejoined Sea to Sea. He now sets up the
tent, the air mattresses, the sleeping bags and gathers the duffel bags for
both of us. He brings my meals to me
while I sit in my camp chair with my leg on another chair—I can’t carry a plate
of food while using crutches. (I’ve kept
my leg up as much as possible to keep the swelling down.) Since the Sea to Sea camp is usually spread
over a fairly large area, I often do not accompany Rudy through the food line
as it is very tiring to hold my leg out in front of me to keep my partially
extended foot from hitting the ground.
He generally knows what foods I like and which ones I avoid. I have decided to be content with whatever he
brings me, even if it is a baked potato with no butter, salt or other toppings. After each meal he collects my dishes and washes
the dishes for both of us. The time of
day when I feel most dependent is when he stands behind me with his arms wrapped
around under my arm pits to lower me to the air mattress on the ground in our
tent. Once down, I am there until we do
the same routine in reverse the next morning.
This is the one form of assistance that is, naturally, reserved only for
Rudy.
Some people have adjusted
to helping with little things like holding doors open for me, while others
allow me to keep my independence and prop the door open with the base of my
crutch as I pass through (wrestle with) the door. I can
usually manage doors, etc., on my own, but it takes more care and effort. In
spite of my independent nature, I have come to appreciate it when someone
offers this sort of help.
Various people in camp have taken on their own unique roles
in watching out and caring for me over the past two weeks. Sharon Tans checks the color of my toes and
insists I put my foot up if my toes do not pass the test. (Many thanks to Sharon, also, for helping me get
checked into my dorm room at Hope College this afternoon!) Chris brings me a serving of our awesome kettle chips every
afternoon as the cyclists arrive and grab their snacks to replenish their bodies
with protein and sodium lost in their sweat of the day. Of course I haven’t been sweating, but she keenly
picked up on my cues that I love those chips!
Billy enjoys calling me by the wrong name and good-naturedly gets after
Rudy if he thinks Rudy is shirking his “duty” of taking care of my every whim
and desire.
I sometimes have to fight
my impulse to say, “I’m fine,” (read: “I can do it myself,”) or even, “Oh,
it’s okay, Rudy will take care of it.” This
morning was one of those times. After Rudy
helped me up from my air mattress, I made my way from the tent, (picture me
with crutches through all of this), around the gear and kitchen trucks in the
parking lot, into the building, down the hall, up a slight incline to the
bathroom, squeezed into the narrow stall door, stood at the sink to brush my
teeth, and made my way back to the parking lot.
I was tired and really wanted to sit down. Just then Larry Stehower got up from his
chair and insisted I sit down. He then
asked what I wanted for breakfast. I
almost said, “Rudy will get it for me.”
But I stopped myself. He is asking
to serve me and I made a conscious decision to accept his help.
I placed my order of oatmeal with brown sugar and before
long he reappeared with my food in his
dishes. (That means he would have to
wash his dishes twice this morning.) I began eating and the first hints of rain
began to fall. As if on signal, Hank appeared
at my side with an umbrella. He
confessed that he wouldn’t be doing this
thing for me with the umbrella if someone (his wife?) hadn’t told him to do it. J As the rain increased, I quickly finished
eating, left Larry’s bowl, spoon and cup on his chairs, and gathered my
crutches to make my way to our van where I would have a dry place to sit. Hank patiently walked a half stride behind
me, guarding me from the rain. If it
hadn’t been for the crutches, I would have felt like quite the princess. One of the riders scurried for his camera,
announcing that Hank’s rare chivalry should not go unrecorded.
I hope this gives you a hint of the community which continues
to take shape on this trip. Yes, there
are aspects which rear their heads when living in relatively confined areas
with 125 people, but those, too, are expected.
We grow if we take the time and pay
attention to how we’re responding to various people and situations. We minimize our personal develpment if
we fail to be open to new methods of relating in difficult circumstances, no
matter the size of the challenge.
I finished writing this post after arriving at Hope College
in Holland, MI. Rudy hasn’t arrived yet
on his bike, but I saw him at one of the support stops at mile 20 or so. While there we were treated to cookies and
freshly picked blue berries. My trip to
the church’s restroom turned out to be potentially treacherous as the rider’s
jerseys and shoes shed their water on the tile floor. If I spread the crutches too wide they would
slip away from me and if I kept them straight down beside me they would form a
suction grip on the floor. We
laughed at the popping noise coming from the base of my crutches as the seal
broke with each stride. Laughter is good medicine. The rain
stopped and the sun started breaking through the clouds as we left the church. It remains overcast, with a comfortable breeze
coming in my first floor dorm window. It’s
an old building with beautiful woodwork, new windows and typical dorm
furniture. Rudy will get the top
bunk. J
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