Why I Ride...
Pebbles and Boulders
By
Joyce Matthews Hampton
“Hi, are you here for Eastern Pedalers?”
“Nope, I’m just here to ride, but thanks anyway.”
“Well, hope you have a great ride.”
“I will,” I said, mounting my bike, aiming the wheel north.
My legs retrieve the familiar up and down rhythm on the pedals and with each extension the turning wheels push me forward over the packed dirt and crushed gravel path. I float along like the boats on the Potomac, dropping fear and anxiety as I sail forward. Birds chirp and squirrels race about as I breathe in the woodland air. My thoughts become as serene and peaceful as my surroundings. I smile to myself and think, I was right I am going to have a great ride.
My return to cycling came about as part of a search. At 45 years of age I found myself in various situations I could never have predicted. My thoughts became, wow, I didn’t expect this all to often. Some days it seems life can throw pebbles and or boulders. At the time, it felt like more boulders were coming my way. My first boulder came in the form of marital problems. My husband of sixteen years felt we had lost touch with the people we were when we married. Locating a marriage counselor catapulted me directly into a place I never thought I’d be. We attended counseling, we cried, prayed and worked to save our relationship. Not long after, the second boulder arrived when my sister in law of 30 years had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. She fought for her life and lost. She was 53 when she passed. The third boulder rolled in when I accompanied my husband to a medical appointment. I found myself sitting a sterile examination room with posters depicting various brain diagrams covering the walls.
“We have determined that you do have Parkinson’s disease,” the doctor said in a matter of fact way. “We will see you every other month while we adjust your medications,” he continued. Looking at me, the doctor reached to the wall and retrieved a pamphlet. “Most of your concerns as caregiver will be covered in this,” he said, handing me the paper. Exhaling, and fighting the tears, I had that thought again; wow this isn’t a moment I ever expected.
By now, I began to feel a need. Most of the time, I felt the need to be invisible. But as a wife, mother, teacher and now caregiver, invisibility was not an option. Like most women my age, I bought into the you can have it all philosophy and I certainly had it all; teenagers, aging parents, a mortgage, a teaching career, a marriage that almost didn’t survive, and a husband with Parkinson’s. All of this left behind an internal gnawing. Disappearing not an option, I began my search for anything that would possibly quiet this internal noise.
Recalling a list I’d made while in marriage counseling, I began to make a plan. The counselor once suggested we each list activities we enjoyed as children. I think that was the easiest assignment she ever gave me. As a child, I loved riding my bike. From the time I could ride, I spent hours on my pink bike riding the streets of the suburbs where we lived. My friends and I created numerous ways to entertain ourselves while riding. We rode through puddles and made figure eights, clipped baseball cards to the spokes, and of course, rode with no hands on the handlebars. I rode for hours, dreaming of being an artist, only stopping when my mother called for me to come in. In my mind, I rode far away from teasing brothers, stern teachers and other challenges. I even taught the other children on our street to ride two wheelers. I remember pedaling up and down the street until the streetlights came on. Watching fireflies dance and retreating to the backyard to capture some. The girl on the bike overcame her boulders to become a woman that had it all.
Resurrecting my love of biking, rekindled my relationship with that little girl. The more I rode the more I remembered her. How she met the challenges of growing up in the 60s and 70s. The music she loved, the dreams she had, and the fears. Reconnecting with her led to the realization that she still had dreams to explore and fears to quiet. She was that tugging I felt for so long. She was the girl on the pink bike I left behind so many years ago.
Sometimes, when cycling, I become that little girl on the pink bike with blonde braids, and buck teeth. We console and reassure each other. As I ride along in the warmth of the sun or the crisp chill of early morning, I leave behind me the pebbles and the boulders. They will wait, but I cannot, and so I travel to a temporary retreat.
Riding renews my faith and feeds my soul. I have ridden the Chesapeake and Ohio Towpath, the Western Maryland Rail Trail and the streets where I now live. I have explored alone, and with friends, even completing a one-day ride of 25 miles last November in celebration of my 50th birthday. With every ride I emerge with greater admiration for my creator, a healthier self esteem and a greater confidence that I can survive the boulders and the pebbles of life while succeeding as a mom, teacher, wife and now, cyclist.
By
Joyce Matthews Hampton
“Hi, are you here for Eastern Pedalers?”
“Nope, I’m just here to ride, but thanks anyway.”
“Well, hope you have a great ride.”
“I will,” I said, mounting my bike, aiming the wheel north.
My legs retrieve the familiar up and down rhythm on the pedals and with each extension the turning wheels push me forward over the packed dirt and crushed gravel path. I float along like the boats on the Potomac, dropping fear and anxiety as I sail forward. Birds chirp and squirrels race about as I breathe in the woodland air. My thoughts become as serene and peaceful as my surroundings. I smile to myself and think, I was right I am going to have a great ride.
My return to cycling came about as part of a search. At 45 years of age I found myself in various situations I could never have predicted. My thoughts became, wow, I didn’t expect this all to often. Some days it seems life can throw pebbles and or boulders. At the time, it felt like more boulders were coming my way. My first boulder came in the form of marital problems. My husband of sixteen years felt we had lost touch with the people we were when we married. Locating a marriage counselor catapulted me directly into a place I never thought I’d be. We attended counseling, we cried, prayed and worked to save our relationship. Not long after, the second boulder arrived when my sister in law of 30 years had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. She fought for her life and lost. She was 53 when she passed. The third boulder rolled in when I accompanied my husband to a medical appointment. I found myself sitting a sterile examination room with posters depicting various brain diagrams covering the walls.
“We have determined that you do have Parkinson’s disease,” the doctor said in a matter of fact way. “We will see you every other month while we adjust your medications,” he continued. Looking at me, the doctor reached to the wall and retrieved a pamphlet. “Most of your concerns as caregiver will be covered in this,” he said, handing me the paper. Exhaling, and fighting the tears, I had that thought again; wow this isn’t a moment I ever expected.
By now, I began to feel a need. Most of the time, I felt the need to be invisible. But as a wife, mother, teacher and now caregiver, invisibility was not an option. Like most women my age, I bought into the you can have it all philosophy and I certainly had it all; teenagers, aging parents, a mortgage, a teaching career, a marriage that almost didn’t survive, and a husband with Parkinson’s. All of this left behind an internal gnawing. Disappearing not an option, I began my search for anything that would possibly quiet this internal noise.
Recalling a list I’d made while in marriage counseling, I began to make a plan. The counselor once suggested we each list activities we enjoyed as children. I think that was the easiest assignment she ever gave me. As a child, I loved riding my bike. From the time I could ride, I spent hours on my pink bike riding the streets of the suburbs where we lived. My friends and I created numerous ways to entertain ourselves while riding. We rode through puddles and made figure eights, clipped baseball cards to the spokes, and of course, rode with no hands on the handlebars. I rode for hours, dreaming of being an artist, only stopping when my mother called for me to come in. In my mind, I rode far away from teasing brothers, stern teachers and other challenges. I even taught the other children on our street to ride two wheelers. I remember pedaling up and down the street until the streetlights came on. Watching fireflies dance and retreating to the backyard to capture some. The girl on the bike overcame her boulders to become a woman that had it all.
Resurrecting my love of biking, rekindled my relationship with that little girl. The more I rode the more I remembered her. How she met the challenges of growing up in the 60s and 70s. The music she loved, the dreams she had, and the fears. Reconnecting with her led to the realization that she still had dreams to explore and fears to quiet. She was that tugging I felt for so long. She was the girl on the pink bike I left behind so many years ago.
Sometimes, when cycling, I become that little girl on the pink bike with blonde braids, and buck teeth. We console and reassure each other. As I ride along in the warmth of the sun or the crisp chill of early morning, I leave behind me the pebbles and the boulders. They will wait, but I cannot, and so I travel to a temporary retreat.
Riding renews my faith and feeds my soul. I have ridden the Chesapeake and Ohio Towpath, the Western Maryland Rail Trail and the streets where I now live. I have explored alone, and with friends, even completing a one-day ride of 25 miles last November in celebration of my 50th birthday. With every ride I emerge with greater admiration for my creator, a healthier self esteem and a greater confidence that I can survive the boulders and the pebbles of life while succeeding as a mom, teacher, wife and now, cyclist.
The cyclist today!
