Riding into 2024
This winter time, I have been operating at the pace of molasses. I appreciate the pace, as it allows me to contemplate and reflect. In my last Substack, at the beginning of the holiday season 2023, I shared the juxtapositions of contrasts along my recovery. The previous two months have me inching further away from 2023 and sliding into better momentum and higher hopes for 2024. (As usual, I wrote a year-end review on my blog.) Today, the last day of January, is a delight of blue sky and sun-kissing. I am thrilled that we are past the low-sunlight hours part of the season.
Unexpected changes to my family plans allowed me to visit a friend over Thanksgiving in Florida. Deep in Red Florida, the sign at an Italian market made me want to burrow in the sand and pray for peace. Walking in the ocean and playing in the surf, I thanked fate for my surroundings. I was physically safe to stroll and play at the beach. On a distant shore abroad, no one is safe. The sound of waves brought me ideas for upcoming political writings.
When I returned to Atlanta in mid-December, I had two long-awaited follow-up appointments with foot and wrist surgeons. Each specialist was satisfied with my progress, and I was discharged from further follow-ups. Bring on all the good rides!
My dictionary dictates that a good bike ride motivates more bike rides. In December and January, I have had a few such rides. On Christmas Eve, I joined the Palestine solidarity ride with Atlanta supporters of the Gaza Sunbirds. They left from downtown Decatur and headed into the city. The pace was physically demanding. As I tried to keep up, I sensed a deep metaphor. Every day since October, my heart has struggled to confront America’s foreign affairs. During the ride, I appreciated the challenge. Again, as I think of my injury and the close community around me, I wonder what it is like to be ignored by the world. As I practice going after, I am also working on my stamina so that I might be able to keep up with that group again in some weeks.
On the last Saturday of December 2023, the week following the Palestine ride, I attended the memorial ride for Tom Duncan. I did not personally know Tom. He was a ride leader killed during a ride by a careless driver. I doubt the driver will have any repercussions. I felt moved to participate in the memorial after hearing of his loss. Riding with such a large group showed me again that we have so much power within our cycling family. The local news was there, and I chimed in (at minute 1:07) about riding in Atlanta. Though I did not know Tom, I felt filled with respect and admiration for the collegiality in our community.
I returned to Lee and White on a nippy Sunday morning the next day. This time, I came to join the Bike Church ride. I had only ridden with them once before, on May 14th. It was the last Atlanta Cycling Festival ride I completed last year. On our December ride that Sunday, I noticed that the pre-ride instructions differed. There was a special admonishment (for would-be trick-doers). Kevin changed some instructions after my crash, he gently reminded me. Post ride, I had a good hang with the congregation; it was another great ride and managed to hold me over into the new year.
Last week, we had Critical Mass on a magically warm Friday in January. Many of us missed our regular rides in the past week or so because of rain. The last Friday of the month had many strange hiccups. It started with my sister’s unexpected and worrying call. Her call, fortunately, came after I had just finished a morning meditation. My spirit was in a better place to follow the flow. Later, on my MARTA ride to the city, I crossed paths with d a friend of a friend and fellow cyclist heading to town. I felt encouraged to see a well-wisher in such a spontaneous way. While we were waiting to begin the ride that night, I learned someone photographed me at the accident scene. I asked for the photo to check out later. GNARLY!
The Critical Mass Ride was a beautiful loop of Atlanta. I loved how it crossed from the Atlanta University Center to the Georgia Tech campus. The contrast in infrastructure, lighting, and vibe left a mark. Along the ride, I met yet another person who knew about my accident; he saluted my return to group riding. Many shenanigans went on during the Critical Mass ride. I stayed a safe distance away. Afterwards, a small crew of us rode further into Estoria to enjoy the perfect temperature.
This past Monday, I joined, for the first time, a small, regular Decatur ride. There, I again met another well-wisher in our beloved cycling community. She shared with me how she began choosing her rides differently after reading about my accident. When we hung out at Thinking Man’s Tavern afterward, I contemplated a lot on the continued purpose of this newsletter.
Confrontations with death bring you a bit closer to life. I began this Substack to communicate with those who showed me so much support during my recovery. I write now to acknowledge that support with gratitude and seek to create dialogue. My temporary disabilities reminded me of how essential we are to one another. This interconnectedness is food for our spirit, supports our mental health, and strengthens our society. Yet, I know, and continue to see, that many of us lack a social safety net in the world’s most prosperous country.
I feel fiercely about this, especially seeing the dichotomy of our government’s ill-advised expenditures. Nourishing human potential should be the front and center of any society. Our spending on war, weapons, and fake diplomacy is making us spiritually and financially bankrupt. As I work to bring awareness and urgency to this issue, I feel the call to hear and discuss this thread within my community. I see, everywhere, and over and over again, warm-hearted people changing the world. In some way, I sense a calling around sharing words to bring people to see our common humanity. Only then, it seems, can we be on the same page on nourishing all human potential.
