End of Summer Updates
I have exercised and expanded my mobility in the weeks since my last update in early August. As I regained strength in my hand and leg, the world of adventure called for me. I noted that I have a finite energy reserve and have been selective in picking where (and with whom) to play. I picked a few excursions for myself; the universe picked a few others for me. I chose playing in the water in Lake Hartwell and bicycling in the desert. Later, COVID caught me, and I napped a lot and then dealt with car dilemmas. Let me catch all of you up on the whirlwind of the last two months.
Water-based activities were high on the list as summer was ending. Last year, on the invitation of a Greenville, South Carolina-based friend, I attended the 2022 Lake Crash organized by local Couch Surfers. I made new friends there and met a handful of the Atlanta cycling community. This year, the organizers proactively reserved a waterfront campsite for me. The lake was perfect for connecting with friends, nature, and myself. Mayuresh and some non-CouchSurfing Atlanta cyclists joined our excursion to Lake Hartwell. I set up my hammock with peak water views and brought my two ORU kayaks to share. In addition to the joy of paddling on flat water, the group rented a pontoon boat for shenanigans. In the weekend’s excitement, I felt moved to try my luck on a spontaneous first bicycle ride post-accident. I managed a loop of the campground on a friend’s bike. I rode fine until I saw a crowd of people ahead of me, panicked, and dropped myself and the bike on my right side. Fortunately, I was going relatively slow. Still, it was an excellent first-run reminder: people are unpredictable. I would need practice in controlling my internal post-trauma alarm reaction.
While preparing for the Lake Crash, an even bigger bonanza was brewing. Clint is a regular at Burning Man. At a pre-MWR dinner, Clint invited me to ride in his vehicle on his annual pilgrimage to Black Rock City. I had always wanted to go to Burning Man. As I simmered on the idea, an offer for a Playa-safe tent and a loaner bike sprang up from my friends. Through the support of my community, I sensed the universe inviting me on a massive adventure. Of course, I accepted. Burning Man was unequivocally incredible. The scale of the city and art were intense. I rode a beach cruiser on the flat, sandy desert through most of the week. Yes, it rained. Yes, it got messy. NO! I was NOT stuck. By definition, I contend, you are only stuck if you want to be somewhere else! At the Man, I again met my limit. I biked and explored as much as my body allowed. As needed, I stopped or slowed down.
Thanks to our flexible schedules, Clint and I stayed to see The Man burn on Monday evening (two days later than expected.) On the way back, the trip got spicy. Just outside of Salt Lake City, Clint’s car needed a tow. The car troubles (and UFO podcasts) strained my psyche, and I felt the urge to go home. The next day, I boarded a flight to Atlanta via an excruciating and accidental 20+ hours layover in Las Vegas.
When I finally came home, COVID caught up with me. After avoiding the plague for three years, I learned that the `Rona was hanging out in our camp at Black Rock City. I returned to Atlanta with a dancing spirit and a wiped-out body. My main symptoms were exhaustion. I slept for what felt like ten days straight. With a positive COVID test, I again had the cringe feeling of wanting to go out and see people and not being able to… Instead, I slept odd hours and anywhere. In bits of wakefulness, I packed my personal belongings into moving boxes. (Also, BTW, I am looking for housemates!) Before heading out to Burning Man, I had decided to move to Decatur. As I waited out this surprise illness, I caught up on lots of sleep. Fortunately, my souvenir from Black Rock City dissipated just a few days before the last MWR of the summer.
On Wednesday, 9/20, I joined Midweek Roll for my first group ride post-accident. Pre-ride, some well-meaning friends asked how long I had been back on the bike. This ride was the first one; I had too many butterflies in my stomach to respond coherently. I was nervous and did not want to make too much drama or hoop-la about my first attempt with Luna. I needed all my attention to ride in an upright and safe fashion. Lis understood the situation and let me hide in her hugs. She graciously rode along with me and reminded me to keep breathing. As we traveled the last leg of the ride through the Krog Street Tunnel back to 97 Estoria, we both screamed triumphantly into the night. I felt intense physical and spiritual relief as I parked my bike against the fence. I wanted to cry tears of joy but managed to hang (not quietly) with our posse and my custom drink at Estoria.
Once I tasted the joy of riding with my crew again, I was even more enthused about Streets Alive that weekend. Part of my motivation to move to Decatur was to use my car less often and take more adventures with my bike. Between car runs of baggage from Chamblee to Decatur, I managed to wear out my car. After loading my beloved Luna on the car’s bike rack for Streets Alive, I saw that my car was not interested in starting up. Faced with staying home again on a gorgeous day, I wrestled up the nerve to ride my bike a mile to downtown Decatur and board the MARTA train with my bike to Five Point station. Somehow, the commute made Streets Alive more relevant. There, I bumped into many, many Atlanta cyclists. Perhaps my favorite moment was dismounting from my bike to join a dance party on Peachtree Road with my cycling community.
Early October is a great time to be out and about in Atlanta. Later this month, I will co-lead a bike camp at Alchemy, our local burn. To supplement PT, I am returning to a yoga practice. This month, I aim to get on the mat with Yoga with Adrienne daily. Her mantra of `Find What Feels Good` really resonates as I meet my edge. My right side often needs modification, and I adjust according to an internal compass. Through this trauma, I, too, am turning a leaf. I am happily listening to the messages of my body. Ankle and foot massage are excellent. So are the naps I have been taking. Very often, though, my spirit echoes into my body, and this song, I Hope You Dance, compels me to my feet. I continue to honor that. While I am not 100% returned to pre-accident me, with dedication and patience, I am making good progress.
Thank you, Shelli!