• mile 4 – evidently it was so cold the cadre’ of little ‘yipping’ dogs who chase me every day decided not to come out to play.
• mile 14 – the 2 hairy black dogs who like to chase me as I struggle to make it to the top of the hill… the dogs who bark and charge and chase me down the road, knowing I have no energy, no speed, no chance to get away. They were distracted today by a nice little old lady. They merrily jumped and danced as she got out of the car. They bounded up the walk, thrilled to be in the presence of this wonder of a woman. And the rider on the bicycle? I didn’t even exist. Score! No yelling “Hey!” “Go home!” No adrenaline rush. No legs protesting the increase in tempo. Niiiice.
• mile 20 – I watched some guy in a silver sedan run off the road, into the ditch and back on the road. “Idiot.” I thought. “Get off your cell phone.”
• mile 30 – turned around at the half way point. I didn’t even stop.
• mile 45 – every little hill felt like I was climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro. Every rise in the road mocked my pain.
• mile 47 – it’s the hairy dog house. “Will they be out?” “Will they see me?” I top the hill. They see me. I see them charging hard, flying across the yard, hell-bent on my destruction. “Maybe I can outrun them.” My massive speed of 7mph tells me no. Here they come. Faster than I thought possible. All they want to do is chase me down the road, bark and growl, maybe bite my ankle off. I look to my left. A car is passing me. The dogs still come. They don’t see the car. I yell at the dogs who are about eat me for lunch. I warn them. I see the first one disappear on the other side of the car. “Maybe he stopped. Maybe the car missed him.” Nope. The only thing that saved the second dog was he was slower than the first.
• mile 52 – I ride hills that hurt like I’m riding to the moon. They seem to go on forever. 8mph. 5mph. 3mph. The Sherpas don’t come to help. I am embarrassed because cars have to slow way down for me. I am embarrassed because walkers are faster than me.
• mile 53 – ran out of water.
• mile 55 – my legs goes on strike.
• mile 56 – my butt goes on strike.
• mile 56.1 – it’s every body part for itself
• mile 60 – home. I decide I bit off more than I could chew. Tomorrow, my legs will bite me back. They will hurt. More than a little.

In the shower my arms go on strike. I stand there, arms hanging limply at my side, trying to figure out how to get the soap out of my hair.

I think I will lay on the couch and hope my eyelids go on strike.

Man! That’s not what I used to live. I remember living on the edge. You know, back in the day when I was young and full of ideals. When my dreams with God were bigger than my life could ever be. When God fulfilled my life. I was newly married. Or a new father. Or at a new ministry. It didn’t matter, I was sensing God at every turn. I could imagine no better life. Oh, and I had no money. So cool. So full of faith. I knew every day was a day when God would show up. When He would move in someone’s life. When the supernatural was expected because God is so much higher than than me. The supernatural was anything from the presence of God in the words of someone’s testimony or the healing of someone’s knee. Those around me expected stuff… and we saw stuff… and that stuff was awesome. The idealist’s life… the life full of faith… was the best life.

Then real life happened (or so they tell me). Reality. My high ideals were great for me but I couldn’t reconcile the lack of ideals in someone else’s life. I mean, really, shouldn’t men of high regard, godly men of high regard, excel at a Biblical standard filled with integrity? I thought so. I was wrong on some accounts and right on others. When I saw integrity and honor my world was pretty alright. When I didn’t see integrity and honor my world shook. I couldn’t reconcile the disparity.

That may have been the beginning of something I still wrestle with. Couple that with several tough ministry situations and, well, here I am.

Life is relatively good: great family, talented kids, beautiful wife, financial stability. But here I sit, typing away hoping to be able to express what I feel. Everything is good, but I miss the idealist.

Where is the guy who knew God would show up? Did he disappear? Did he fade away like the memories of great ministry? Is he covered up with responsibility? comfort? plain thinking? I grow weary of that. I grow weary of flat, average, stable. While life may be good now, I find myself looking for something great again. To be part of the incredible. Not the everyday. Not the good enough. I want a challenge… to be challenged… to rise to it… excel… fail… try again. At least then I would be moving forward.

At 48 my life is far from over. But this flat spot, this Kansas, on the road to the next great adventure is kicking my butt.

So here’s my story.

I finally geared up and headed down the road. At the quarter mile mark I turn left and jet down the hill, over the railroad tracks and straight up to the local bike shop (Freeride Bike and Skate Shop). It felt good to be in the shop. It felt good to shoot the breeze with Kevin (the shop owner). Then I met a guy who took up riding just last year. He was over 300 pounds last year. He rode to stay alive. He has lost 50ish pounds since then. His goal is to train for his first century ride. I asked him when that would be. His response, “before my next birthday. April.” Stellar goal.

After that I took a lot of grief from the shop owner for wearing my Special Ed. shoe covers. The shop is a Trek shop. Kevin gives me grief every time I wear Specialized gear.

Finally standing on the street prepping my gear for the ride when this white car sweeps across the street and pulls in diagonally right next to me. Oncoming traffic had to move into the other lane to avoid  smashing bumpers. And who is this wild and crazy driver? None other than my good friend, Pastor Ben Wilson. His wife kept giving me the “I-don’t-know-what-this-crazy-man-is-doing” look. It was pretty funny. We chat. He heads out when the police car is seen rolling down the street. I am secretly thinking that I must be an exceptionally awesome cyclist because I am riding in the middle of December in Missouri and people think it’s cool.

My plan is to ride like the wind to Holden and back (34 miles). I have to beat the sun so time is limited. Off I go.I’m feeling pretty good until I realize I’m going downhill. That was my first sign that I should’ve just turned around and went home. There is one problem with turning around… I already told Kevin (at the shop) where I was going. He thought it was an ambitious ride for a guy who has been off the bike for 6 weeks. I had to prove him wrong. Go, Brian, Go!!!!

Watching my mph. Mentally clicking off the time it would take to complete my ambitious ride. Depression… setting in. Can’t push hard enough. Can’t physically ride fast enough. Can’t… breathe. I dawns on me that Kevin is right. I am a dope. I neither have the time nor the power to make the 34 mile ride in the remaining daylight.

Physically, I can’t ride at the 19 mph it would take. Mentally, I have discovered that I really stink. “What was I thinking?” I am falling into a biking induced depression. My body betrays me. I succumb. Pulling out my iPhone I think of Kevin’s words as I change my route to a simple 12 miles out and back. Bummer.

The ride back was moderately better. I managed to put together 3 miles of 20+ mph. The grand realization of this ambitious ride? I have a lot of work to do if I want any kind of cool riding in the spring.

Ride on.

11.98 miles – 14.07 mph.