Tag Archives: bicycle

2023: A Year in Review- So Very Mortal

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The Innards of the Happiness Jar 2023

These last few days past Christmas have been wet and dreary in Atlanta. It feels like the appropriate way to wind down the year. I opened my annual happiness jar yesterday to properly reminisce on the gifts and trials of 2023. In March, I introduced my principles for living joyfully and my new bike, Luna. Two months later, in my previous post, I discussed my ambulance ride from downtown to Grady Hospital. While it has been a wild year, my happiness jar is a small practice that reminds me how to find gratitude and reflect through the year. This year, alongside my bike, I held incredible moments of kindness and tough soul-shaping pains in the same breath.

In spring 2023, I had a series of cycling firsts. I finally tried (supported) bike camping with the Atlanta Cycling Festival. In that week of their trip to Rockmart, Georgia, I met my peak week distance maximum at around 100 miles. In March, I took my first bike-based birthday ride for Borith on his BeltGrind route. Ride joy is contagious, and it carried me to lead an April ride to my favorite Indian plaza in Decatur. Then, in mid-May, a cycling accident took me off the road. It was an abrupt reminder and wake-up call. We are so very mortal. The loss of independence during the following eight weeks in a wheelchair was transformative. The combined inability to care for myself, prepare meals, or write was challenging.

My Aunt Shampoos My Hair

In response, I had a beautiful outpouring of support and compassion from my community, friends, and family. My favorite aunt, Sheru, made a surprise visit to Atlanta from Toronto to get me from Grady. She later helped me bathe and read Urdu poetry to me. Just a month later, she suffered a stroke. Now, her motor functions and language abilities are a little different. When I visited her in November, I tried to reciprocate warmth to her. Already aware of the dilemmas of diabetes and heart disease in my family history, I am even more attuned to the requirements for preventive medicine. My concern about holistic health has grown firmer.

Good health begins inside the body. Not long after addressing my physical injuries, I proactively sought the help of a therapist. I learned to carry the simultaneous gratitude for support along with patience during my temporary disability. Discussions with my therapist have highlighted the beauty of slowing down and bringing compassion to myself. Again, this reminds me that the first component of health is having the right mindset. A senior member of my care team noted that your self-image can benefit your healing. As I see myself as an outdoors lover, I was motivated to return to operating under the power of my limbs.

Ice Cream for Hearts and Healing

Community is the second component of my health and has been the best miracle of this year. My expedited recovery is thanks to the benevolent energies and grace carried through my cycling community. People I did not know well checked in on me. Friends visited, brought me meals, and transported me to appointments. I am getting by this year with a LOT of help from my friends. Through many deep conversations, I am reminded how interwoven our lives are. As I shared my concerns, others shared their hearts. We are now woven closer together. Healing really does happen in community.

Community Love

Finding and enjoying meaningful work has been incredibly arduous this year. I supported a progressive, community-based developer for a short contract this year. In the happiness jar, I recalled a February public comment I gave at the Dekalb County Commissioners meeting. I had the chance to complain about the Dekalb Police Department and express my disdain for Cop City in one truth-to-power moment. In other joy, I led a bike-sharing theme camp at Alchemy, our regional burn. Through this community project, I got to spread the joy of riding, and advance the cause of adventure.

BBBBikes Camp at Alchemy 2023

An important part this year was the continued efforts at writing. My focus shifted from UpStreamRose to a series of emails via Substack. While my right wrist was broken, the difficulty in writing became an unexpected gift. I started feeling bloated with words and feelings when I could not hold a pen. It was a reminder to keep at this craft. Thanks to voice-typing applications, I kept some writing going. I have been grateful as people have connected with me through conversations via writing. Through these interactions, I sense we have collectively drawn ripples of awareness and expansion in 2023.

Magic Is Something You Make

I punctuated the year on Christmas Eve with a bike ride for Palestine. I still feel shocked that so many Americans cannot acknowledge that this country is funding genocide in Gaza. This horror is happening before our digital-and-always-connected eyes. A global collective awakening pushes Americans to realize that they are on the wrong side of history. With some invitations to holiday parties and seasonal festivities, I look forward to hugging friends and celebrating the end of 2023. Ultimately, I am happy to tuck the horrors and humanity of 2023 into hopes and efforts for a smoother and kinder 2024.

 

From The Isolation Journals

Why I am in a wheelchair instead of on a bike this Memorial Day weekend

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Wheelchair Host

TRIGGER WARNING: Gore

On the third day of the Atlanta Cycling Festival, Monday, May 15, I lay on the asphalt while four people held each of my limbs, and a wartime medic kept my bloodied head in place. I suffered major trauma, including almost losing my right foot – after I was sideswiped by a falling cyclist during the city’s most popular group ride, M+M. Moments before the collision, I felt fit and fierce on my bike, even riding past city hall shouting, `Stop Cop City!` I had spent the day at City Hall in line as public commenter #218, wishing to speak truth to power while the city of Atlanta funds a controversial police militarization project packaged as a training facility.

Moments before the accident, I was catching up with friends while riding downhill on a four-lane ramp leading into Interstate I-75. We were going three times the average speed ( over 30 MPH, as captured by Strava data). Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a cyclist on the sidewalk losing control of his bike. The next thing I saw was his bright green mountain bike immediately in my trajectory, and then I woke up on the asphalt in paralyzing pain. There are varying accounts of whether the helmet-free rider on the tricked-out mountain bike was doing tricks. His life-long BMX riding appeared to help him manage a roll instead of my face plant. Still, it’s worth noting that doing tricks such as jumping curbs, riding sidewalks, and doing wheelies have become common in this weekly group ride despite the known dangers of such shenanigans on a 400+ cyclist ride.

After spending most of last week at Grady Hospital, I still do not know the extent of all my injuries. My visible scars include a cast on my right leg (the one which almost lost its ankle), a cast on my right arm up to my elbow, a chipped front tooth, a cracked other tooth (all attached to a deformed upper lip with two stitches, lacerations across along my right side of the face, a bruised & bandaged right shoulder and scuffed up knees. Unseen are the pains in my jaw, tongue, nerves, neck, and shoulder. Plus a foodie’s inability to eat hard or spicy foods. The rest of this warm season will be navigating our Kafka-esque medical system for insurance approvals of specialist appointments and walking a dangerous line of pain management. Before that Monday, I’d never broken a bone; now I can join the homies in injury BINGO.

Looking at recovery is a roller coaster path of ups and downs. I’ve been told it might take up to a year to recover my full body functions. It might be 3 to 6 months before I can ride my beautiful blue bike. I went from developing a love for cycling to having that very activity pushed out from under me. It feels a little bit like I am walking through the stages of grief. Already some moments are reviving my 2008-based PTSD. I am just 2 and a half years into sobriety and remember HALT while taking pain pills. Initially, it felt brilliant to see the sun when I was wheeled out of the hospital, I quickly fell into anguish when I accidentally saw my face in the passenger side mirror. I did a double-take when I saw my broken teeth and discolored, bruised, and swollen face. I quietly cried tears behind a pair of aviators.

I am here and have a possibility of 100% recovery only because the camaraderie within the cyclist community made sure cars did not crush the rest of me into the road. By my miraculous luck, two off-duty Grady nurses pulled over after a work shift in scrubs and helped manage the gory scene. My heart goes out to a fellow cyclist who held my hand and played music for me while I struggled to stay conscious as we waited for EMS. Post hospitalization, beloved amigos from my favorite weekly ride, MWR, created a WhatsApp group for my boo-boo care. I might not have a foot on my leg without the community who swarmed to help me. The organizers of the M+M ride created a GoFundMe page (link below) in anticipation of my medical bills. The funds will be a fraction of the financial burden I anticipate for physical recovery and mental health support.

As I learn to write and function with my left hand, my spills teach me lessons in humility. When my favorite aunt gave me a towel bath in my first-floor half-bath, I realized I actually need to learn to ask for help. I have to throw Sabrina, Miss Independent, on ice for a while.

If it weren’t for this community’s support, instead of being in relatively good spirits, I might be drinking spirits again.

Please consider supporting my GoFundMe campaign, as I  am unsure if I will get any financial support from the proximate cause of my accident…the cyclist got to leave the scene without any ambulance assistance.

[CLARIFICATION: The cyclist who created all this trauma stayed beside me and waited for EMS. An earlier version of this piece on my Facebook account created some confusion]

___________________________________________________________

 

GoFundMe: GoFundMe by M+M

Venmo if you prefer to do this directly. https://account.venmo.com/u/Sabrina-Hassanali

Get Well Soon video made during ACF Midweek Roll with heart-warming messages from my bike family
https://youtu.be/MP14AT5X9c8

I will be writing weekly updates
and reflections on my free Substack. Show me your love and plug in your email.
https://substack.com/@sabrinahassanali…

 

A Year In Atlanta: Home, Community, and Work

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Magic Is Something You Make

My journal cover exclaims, “Magic is something you make.” It has been a year and a week since I returned to Atlanta. The moments I recorded in my journal attest to the magic and mayhem of my making. The past week in review speaks to the efforts of the year. On Tuesday, April 11, 2023, I led 15 hungry cyclists to my favorite Indian restaurant in Decatur. That Thursday, I added a third bookshelf to the collection at my townhouse. On Saturday, by dumb chance and good luck, I spent an afternoon sailing Lake Lanier with friends. Finally, I joined local Bike Grid enthusiasts for a slow roll up Peachtree Street Sunday. The magic is ON, and I continue to cast a few designs forward.

Bikers Can Boat

On April 11, 2022, I shipped my collection of old journals and mementos from my ex-boyfriend’s apartment in Tokyo to my mother’s home in Tucker. Shortly after that, at customs & control in Narita, I turned in my Japanese residence card. Then, with both anxiety and goals as carry-ons, I set off to my hometown. My three-prong goals for Atlanta were: to make a home, participate in the community, and to do meaningful work. Here are my thoughts on a few critical magic milestones from this return.

1. Home

For the first five months of my return, I took up a garden-facing room at my mother’s house. Over the pandemic and in Japan, I had longed for an oven. Beyond that, my ideas of home were transformed by my experience going from a 1,100 square foot house (Bluffton, South Carolina) to a 200 square foot efficiency (Suginami-ku, Tokyo). The Atlanta I returned to was (is?) in a white-hot housing market. Things were expensive and going fast. I wanted something cozy and inside the perimeter.

Eventually, I bought a townhouse in a Chamblee-area community to store my books and souvenirs. In this complex, I can hear birds chirp from nearby woods while I drink coffee in the mornings. On the grounds in the rear of the property is a park that follows a creek that later connects to more water. This place is a great place to get my footing.

2. Community

In pre-COVID Tokyo, I was part of a thriving international community of ex-pats. My social silence grew as our gathering spaces and social outlets diminished post-Pandemic. I missed eavesdropping in the grocery line and making conversations with strangers. On returning to America, I looked forward to creating and being in community again.

Desi Decatur Ride

Through a CouchSurfing(CS) event last summer, I made friends with a group of the Atlanta cycling community. Through group riding here, I have found another sort of home. Atlanta by bike looks different. I began to appreciate the nitty-gritty needs for cycle infrastructure. On the Beltline, cruising through the newly connected areas of Atlanta, it is much easier to see historically underfunded areas in the grip of gentrification. My cyclist amigos share a sense of civic duty. We made good chit-chat with a city official on our Sunday ride. As we deepen community relationships through fun and advocacy, I suspect I will continue to appreciate the new takes on Atlanta.

 

 

3. Meaningful Work

When I left the US in 2017, I was tired of the direct services legal work I had been doing in southern Georgia (across the river from Bluffton, SC, where I lived at the time). Thankfully, the sabbatical from law practice (and respite from Trump) brought me a new way to examine my professional capabilities. From there, I found joy in teaching, coaching, and consulting.

Along the Beltline

Time in Tokyo also transformed what I dared to envision for Atlanta (granted, Atlanta may never be as progressive. It sits in red Georgia, after all.) Upon my return last year, I started attending seminars at the intersection of housing and justice. I volunteered for a conference where I met GSU Professor and Housing Scholar Dan Immergluck and got a copy of his book Red Hot City. Atlanta’s car-centeredness points to the complex interplay of transport, housing, and access. In another seminar, I crossed paths with an old Atlanta CS friend who was Dan’s student and just finished his master’s in urban studies. At such a seminar, I learned about the movement to Stop Cop City. Finally, through the right partnerships, I feel lucky to have identified work for a community-based small-scale developer in Atlanta bringing affordable housing to under-developed parts of the city.

4. Tough Stuff

One of the most challenging parts of my move has been the saga of my journals. Since age 7, I have intermittently written words in journals to deal with life, changes, and reflections. In Tokyo, I took on the task of reading and notating about 25 lbs of handwritten diaries. Unfortunately, those journals I sent from Japan last year did not make it to Tucker—thanks to the US Postal Service. Then, to add salt to the wound, my family lost three generations of jewelry in a burglary from my mother’s home around Christmas time. As I figure out how to carry these losses, I am grateful that I can still appreciate what is in front of me now.

Boats or Bikes?

From my complex’s backwoods, we can eventually get to Briarcliff Road. My family has lived on various parts of this road during our 30+ years in Atlanta. If you take Briarcliff Road and travel on it south, you can eventually see the changes brought about by the Beltline. In a sense, I rode back home without knowing precisely what it would bring.

Opening up to a breeze can refresh your room or your life. The capacity to restore is at the heart of my beliefs and hopes about home. To live as you dream requires determination. It helps to have supporters and to build in community. Reflecting on the intermittent roller coaster of the last year, I feel blessed to have found a warm sense of community. After long perseverance, I am engaged in work that I believe makes the world a better place. Finally, as I continue my personal mission of flourishing to the bounds of my human potential, I hope to make more time to write and share as I organize, educate, and empower.

Fun with Flowers

Meet the Sky-Blue Luna: On Joy as a Guiding Principle For Life

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Day 1 with Luna

World: meet Luna, my celestial blue bike. If you follow my Instagram, you know I am enthusiastic about riding in Atlanta. So as a Valentine’s Day gift to myself, I splurged on new wheels. Physically, the bike elevates my power on rides. Spiritually, the bike is a conduit for joy. And, well, Luna is beautiful. As I ride, weaving around potholes and through alleys, I am grateful for the time I made for frolicking in the city. When I ride with a group, I sense camaraderie with other cyclists. Post-cruise, my endorphins run high, and I feel invigorated. In this way, adding the bike Luna to my life is an act of nurturing joy.

 

I believe we are in a constant state of becoming our true selves. Therefore, I experiment with myself to hone in on what vibes with me at a deeper level. Many self-growth writers focus on how to correct imperfections. Instead, my approach is to double down on the good stuff. First, I use bliss as my bellwether, and then I lean in. I pay attention to my feelings and then create opportunities to encounter JOY. For example, in 2017, when I decided to move to Tokyo, I followed my joy of travel. While there, I connected with others developing a transnational identity. Being abroad helped me highlight that elemental sense of who I am and brought me closer to encounters with joy. From this and many life lessons, I pursue opportunities for joy as my guiding life principle.

What Joy?

Before going on, let me try the imperfect art of definition. Joy is neither happiness nor bliss. But it is somehow related to both. In Atlas of the Heart, Dr. Brené Brown suggests: “Joy is sudden, unexpected, short-lasting, and high-intensity. It is characterized by connection with others, or with God, nature, or the universe. Joy expands our thinking and attention, and it fills us with a sense of freedom and abandon.”

Joy, then, is like catching a warm ray of sun and appreciating it. Nurturing joy is not simply falling into hedonism. It is more aligned with being an Epicure. It is pausing and enjoying the good things in life with balance and in stride. It is setting the stage for magic. If, as Dr. Brown suggests, joy is fleeting, how can we plan to have more joy in our lives?

White Roses for a Blue BIke

Cultivating Joy

It has taken me years to learn how to integrate joy into my life. It is an inexact art, but I know it begins with the capacity to listen inwards. Here are three practices that have helped me cultivate and follow joy in life:

  1. The Happiness Jar

Over the course of a year, take note of the moments that brought you gratitude. Write them down on a little slip of paper and stick them in the jar. Then, at the end of the year, read and remember those moments. Along the way, you learn what to prioritize.

Last week, for example, a friend of mine reached out because she was in my area, and we went to lunch. It turned into a whole day of hanging out. I added a note about her lovely surprise visit to my happiness jar. Later on, when I reminisce, I will remember how important it is to have unscheduled time for such chance encounters.

Research shows an intriguing link between joy and gratitude (see, again, Atlas of Heart). The trait of gratitude predicts more fantastic future experiences of in-the-moment joy. Joy predicts further experiences of in-the-moment gratitude. And dispositional or situational joy predicts greater future subjective well-being.

Thus, I recommend paying attention to happiness. Over time, this adds to my well-being.

The contents of my 2022 happiness jar

  1. Growing Awareness

Becoming aware of your inner reaction requires silencing outside noise. In that way, we can focus on what resonates with us through sensitivity to perceptions, sensations, and feelings. Awareness helps us notice the beautiful moments in life. Meditation helps grow awareness. Awareness, along with attention, is like a muscle. The more we practice it, the stronger it gets.

  1. Pause to stay with it

My lesson for the joyous moments is to pause and allow the good feelings to sink in. It is a bit like making tiramisu. You place all the good things together. But the most challenging step is to avoid eating it right away once you stack the layers. The best tiramisu hangs and soaks goodness overnight. Then, you have tiramisu infused adequately with patience and deliciousness.

If I am alert to good feelings, I pause consciously to stay with the aura. I might even hold my hand to my heart as if holding the moment close to me.

  1. Practice Opening Your Heart

If all of this is foreign, and you struggle to find joy and happiness, I suggest a mini 12-week course from Julia Cameron. Her book, The Artist’s Way, explores activities to discover your inner creativity. The lessons are not limited to would-be artists. Her lessons are designed to open your heart and senses to learning what makes you feel burning with aliveness. The book combines practices, essays, and quotes bound to ignite our buried inner selves.

Joy Riding

Who Needs Joy?

In Desert Solitaire, American wilderness enthusiast and social critic Edward Abbey wonders why desert frogs sing in the rain.

“Has joy any survival value in the operations of evolution? I suspect that it does; I suspect that the morose and fearful are doomed to quick extinction. Where there is no joy there can be no courage; and without courage all other virtues are useless. Therefore the frogs, the toads, keep on singing even though we know, if they don’t, that the sound of their uproar must surely be luring all the snakes and ringtail cats and kit foxes and coyotes and great horned owls toward the scene of their happiness.”

Though it is dangerous, frogs sing, Abbey, surmises it is because they celebrate life. I agree. When we focus on joy, it inspires and moves us. Nurturing joy is an act of self-love and celebration. Being true to yourself and perfecting your love of yourself can be a challenge. Honing in on and growing my inner self through the sharp lens of joy is an antidote to the ups and downs of life. Joy is not only a barometer for the capacity to enjoy life; it is a time-tested route on the path of spiritual enlightenment.

From Joy to Enlightenment

The ancient Hindu wisdom of Sat Chit Ananda reminds us that our bliss, Ananda, is a route to enlightenment. While the world sells us images of external sources of gratification, we can naturally develop a nagging sense of lack. On top of this, modern lifestyle changes add to a growing sense of social isolation. Together, these trends push people away from their inner knowledge. As we make opportunities to learn from joy, we move toward a higher bliss. We rejoice in knowing we always have the capacity for joy, peace, and light.

Joy, then, is the surprise appreciation we develop when magic comes from the mundane. It is at the heart of doing something new, going on an adventure, or a chance meeting with an old friend. On rainy days I find myself longing for the next bit of sunshine. As the sun returns, I take Luna out. Along the way, I will encounter the Phoenix’s rebirth in Atlanta, flora and fauna of the city, the power of my body, and new roads to travel. My heart sings, and my spirit soars over these blue handlebars. Luna and I become adventure partners on a joint joy journey.

A Bridge I Had Not Crossed

An Atlanta Story: Bikes Howling Into the Moon as Cars are Stuck

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The September Full Moon

At midnight on a late summer Saturday night, hip-hop music emanated from the traffic-jammed cars surrounding me as I traveled west along Edgewood Avenue with a bike posse. On my first group bike ride, I was both excited and nervous. This ride was supposed to make it across town and back (over 10 miles). Most car-driving Atlantans would be rightly terrified of biking this route. Car traffic, hills, and potholes are enough to scare the average Atlantan. While I was safely helmeted and well-lit, without the collective courage of this group, I likely would have stayed in the boring bar where I started my night. On my own, I could not have imagined cycling across Atlanta. But for that September Full Moon ride, I could have lived forever in ignorance and boredom in my own hometown.

Our motley crew comprised a ride leader on roller skates followed by cyclists of every race and age. We snaked our way through bumper-to-bumper clubbing traffic on Edgewood as onlookers stared at us. Occasionally, a cheerful drunk would greet us with a smile and a “HEY there!” More often, though, car drivers actively ignored us. They were stuck in gridlock; we cyclists were free to weave between lanes. This small gloat eased some of my tension.

Along with the heat, enthusiasm began climbing out of me. Without the layers of car steel as separation, the bumping music sent electric pulses through my body. My Saturday night fever grew, and I felt part of the night’s clubby scene. My bike and I connected with the groove and felt like I was dancing along with the city.

A Night Ride from M+M

Watch for Plates, Grates, Poles and Assholes

That night, the road hazards that first presented themselves became more apparent. Car drivers seem either distracted, indifferent, or actively vengeful. As we made our way to the west side of town, the occasional smell of Mary Jane and intermittent car honks punctuated our ride. En route, we encountered a sharp left turn and an immediate incline which slowed us all down. A shiny red Dodge Charger got behind the slowest rider (me) and began revving its engine. The car was less than three feet away and intimidating. When I reached the top of the hill, the Dodge and I were waiting at the same red light. As we were stopped together, I told the driver NICELY that his revving was scary. He laughed and told me he was “playing.” Then, the light turned green, and the Charger rolled up his window and sped off. This driver was driving recklessly. I noted the license plate; the other cyclists were unphased. While he was wrong to drive like that, the flow of the evening was so good. The road called us onwards. I let it roll off me as we caught a pleasant downward hill into the west side of town.

 

Summerhill Mural

I recalled my high school prohibition from entering this neighborhood. It was not considered safe when I was growing up. Now, here in the West End, was another happening corner. A few cool venues caused slowed car traffic. A whole line of scantily clad ladies was waiting to get inside a club. Meanwhile, crowds poured from parking lots and meandered along sidewalks to bars and clubs. From my bike, the excitement was palpable. That first ride showed me my old town in a new way. The Beltline has impacted the city incredibly by connecting previously segregated parts of town. Now, there are open public spaces to hang out and chill. Walking paths meet with restaurant patios giving  Atlanta a lively and dynamic vibe. I notice this as I remember my readings about legacy residents being displaced by growing rents, especially in southwest Atlanta.

Full Moon Ride November- L5P

Helpful Humans

After we passed the new westside developments, our group found a monster incline around The Gulch. Here I got a real sense of group ride camaraderie. I was sure my clunker of a vintage Schwinn bike was malfunctioning. I found it lying around in my mother’s garage not too long ago. The bike needed TLC, just as I required instruction for going up hills. Oh my god, the HILLS in this town! As I struggled with matching pace with everyone else, I hopped off my bike to push it up the steep incline. A veteran older rider offered to help me. I dismounted and let him take a look at my gear settings. This form of volunteerism was both refreshing and encouraging for me. As I continued to ride, I noticed that there are many good bike Samaritans among the group rides.

No club, dive bar, or café could meet the zest of cycling through Atlanta’s entertainment district on a Saturday night. After the ride, I felt electric. Every cell in my body demanded I dance, move, groove. Thanks to this ride, I felt thoroughly connected and immersed in the city for the first time since my repatriation. While I developed my passion for bike riding in Tokyo, riding where I grew up is a whole new beast. Since that Saturday night, I haven’t seen the city the same way. Since then, I have been hooked.

Get out the Vote Ride (Midweek Roll)

Bikes with the Final Word

Atlanta does not immediately pose herself as a bike-friendly town. The tenor of car driving is aggressive and irreverent towards human life. The public infrastructure is entirely car-based. For the tiny bit of bike infrastructure, there is very little enforcement. Cyclists are left to fend for their own safety. While mutual aid and camaraderie are the natural results of being relegated by the car culture, the future is increasingly anti-car. Cars are pollutants, dangerous to pedestrian safety, and cost us a time tax. They increase the cost of street maintenance, take up too much parking space, and are expensive to maintain. As the city embraces more progressive demands from its residents, the gospel of bike life is spreading. Until then, Atlanta is a car town with an addictive bike habit.

 

On Boulevard NE and Edgewood Avenue