Yesterday, I put air in my tires, filled both water bottles, put on my most comfortable bibs, and headed out the door for a bike ride. Not just any ride. As I wound my way through the Ridge and out onto Liberty Road I could feel the first bead of sweat already forming on my brow. I settled in for a long one. As I turned left on Seldom Seen Road, I remembered all the times I would meet Larry coming east as I headed west. His large frame was easily recognized. He would see me coming and turn around before I reached him. In his way, he was letting me know that we would head my direction. Funny, huh.
Yesterday, there would be no Larry beside me. Yesterday, I chose to ride anyway. I rode alone. I didn’t ride just any route. I rode the route that will forever be known, at least to me, as Larry’s last ride.
I settled into a comfortable cadence and went slow enough to take in the scenery. I talked to the big fella mostly in my mind but, on occassion, out loud. I crossed 42 and kept going north along the river. It was a beautiful day and my mind was racing. As I zigged and zagged up the River, my mind went back to a ride with my brother where I finally got up the nerve to ask him for some feedback. I asked him to tell me something about me that he felt I was “blind” to. He pedaled along and contemplated for a stroke or two and then blurted out, “You could ask me more questions.” “More questions about my family and more questions that keep me going.” “You tend to get so excited and when you get so excited you start talking and it’s good. And, we tend to just let you go.” Larry told me to practice being interested instead of interesting. Larry told me exactly what I needed to hear. He didn’t use a bunch of words and his tone was strong and pleasant. He smiled as he told me these words. I felt good hearing that I was basically self centered and not very interested in my brother. That was the magic of my builder. TOUGH and tender…
I kinda laughed to myself as I made the left hand turn onto Mink Street and prepared to cross the Scioto River. My eyes followed my turn to the left and noticed an auburn blob just before the bridge. It couldn’t be I thought to myself. I stopped pedaling and the sound of my cassette disturbed the blob. It was a beautiful red fox. He stared at me as if to say hello and then up popped another one. Two foxee. They both bounded off into the woods and disappeared from sight. I’ve ridden for over 20 years and had only seen two foxes the entire time, until yesterday, that is. I smiled as I crossed the bridge and began my long westward trek toward Magnetic Springs.
I reached Magnetic Springs in about twenty minutes or so and as I turned left and then right onto Delaware couunty road, I decided to ride as if the L-Train was with me. I got down low in my bars and clicked it up a gear. I smiled again as it didn’t seem to hurt and now the miles were ticking by with rapidity. The next STOP sign and the left hand turn led me to cruise mode again.
I wanted to savor this ride. I wanted to look back. I wanted to notice the beauty. I wanted to be open to surprise. I wanted to go slow enough to notice. I wanted to go hard for awhile just to feel the wind and the thrill of speed. I wanted to talk to my friend. I wanted to hear his voice and I wanted to be alone too.
Yesterday, Larry’s last ride, was a great time to look back and savor the memory of a great big man that meant so much to me. I took the three hours and looked back. “Sometimes,” Bono says, “It’s absolutely unhealthy to not look back.” Yesterday, I looked back and lingered there. Today, I’m practicing being interested.
Thanks, brother…
BUILT TO LEAD 