This last post serves as a closing reflection on my move to California as it relates to my bike rides. Each time I ride I am struck by how many parallels there are between bike riding and the ways in which I have coped with this cross country move. I have listed four comparisons here and they chart my progress, from the silly little stuff like weather through the major challenges to finally getting more rooted.
1. The Weather. It seems that bike riding, like everything else here requires you to dress for every season simultaneously. Dressing appropriately in California has been a challenge for me all along, but here’s what happens when I ride my bike in the Oakland Hills: I start off with a light layer of long sleeves, feeling a little chilly. But after the first fifteen minutes of climbing I am sweating profusely and have to shed the layer. After another steep stretch I reach the top of the hill, relieved, and begin coasting down into a valley where the temperature drops twenty degrees and the sweat on my body begins to set in a deep chill. I pull over, put on two layers and keep coasting. A few minutes later I have turned on another road and am beginning another incline. And off the layers go…until the next major descent. What kills me is how quickly these microclimates can change in the Bay area, on a bike or not and how much planning it takes to get dressed appropriately. Alison and I have devoted whole shopping trips to finding perfect layering items. There is an art to dressing appropriately here, and I am still working on it.
2. Gears. So you may have gathered that riding in this area includes a few more hills than I’m used to. But since it’s hard to describe, I will share the way in which I have quantified these hills as a bike rider, by looking at how I use my gears. Here’s a quick tutorial for you non-riders: the front set of gears on a bike control 3 basic levels. The big ring creates the most resistance and allows you to go farther for every stroke of the pedal. The middle ring is somewhat easier but gives you less distance per stroke and the small gear is the one where you can pedal furiously and only move a few feet for your effort. This is the gear designed for hills.
In Boston when I rode I spent most of my time in the middle ring, since there were generally smaller, rolling hills, and few giant mountains to climb. I used the small ring to climb hills about 10% of my rides, but mostly didn’t have many major uphill challenges. And I think that is a decent comparison to my life there. If riding in the middle ring represents managing average ups and downs, not huge crises, that’s where I was most of the time. I had the comfort of routines like Musica Sacra, Tuesday/Sunday night dinner, Quad Cycles riding club and lots of people I loved all around. I didn’t feel like I was riding up hill all the time because I had plenty of support. The amount of time I had to be in the “little gear” was pretty slim.
In this new transition, on the other hand, it’s all hills, all the time. As I ride my bike in the Oakland Hills, I spend about 80% of my time in the smallest gear. I’m either climbing up at 6 mph (if you need a visual, most people walk faster) or I’m coasting down at 30 and there’s very little in between. Again, it’s a pretty apt comparison to my life, when even little challenges feel like bigger ones. From meeting new people all the time to needing a map to find the new drycleaner or hairdresser, it takes lots of effort just to do the regular stuff. I am spinning quickly, exerting a lot of energy, without covering a lot of distance. It takes enormous emotional stamina to be here and it has felt like I spend a lot more time crawling uphill and a lot less time on a flat easy path.
3. The Steepest Spot. On my regular ride, there are hills, and then there are HILLS. The first time I rode up the longest stretch, when Jeff was here visiting, I considered turning back. I had come up two miles already but the next part looked impossible. We stopped as I evaluated what lay in front of me and voiced my plan to coast back down. Jeff convinced me that I could ride so slowly that the bike was barely upright and still make it. I followed his advice and…made it up! And since then only one thing has kept me going through that spot: telling myself I can. It sounds silly and trite, sort of like The Little Engine, but that’s actually how I feel on that stretch of road. I repeat over and over to myself that I have done it before and can do it again. And I have to do this until I reach the top.
This parallel is pretty obvious. People have been telling me for years about the power of positive self talk and though I have tried it, never have I seen it so concretely applied as on this bike ride and this new part of my life. During disappointments, frustrating moments or grief about missing people, I have to tell myself that I can do it, I will be ok and that I have made it through lots of challenges before. And once it’s over, there’s bound to be the glory of coasting at 30 mph past gorgeous scenery.
4. Last one: Branching Out. Yesterday’s ride did mark a first for me. I branched out of my original route twice, for long stretches of time. I found a whole new way up the big hill, through neighborhoods on gorgeous narrow tree lined streets and I extended my ride on skyline drive by about eight miles. I saw even more breathtaking views and was exhilarated to see so many new possible routes.
In order to understand this parallel, you should know that when I first moved here, finding routines, such as a bike riding route, favorite grocery store, or new singing group, was crucial in order to feel settled. I am a woman of routines and in moments of uncertainty I cling to them with a vice-like grip.
So you can imagine my shock at feeling ready to branch out yesterday and begin exploring. Probably most people don’t need to wait eight months to do this, but I did and I think I am now officially ready to keep doing so. Instead of coping with new, I am ready to seek out new. This might include finally finding those gorgeous hiking spots, trying more restaurants, or actively meeting new people. It doesn’t mean that I am totally settled, just that I can finally let go a little, feeling comfortable in what I do know, and begin exploring. This is actually a relief; a sign that I am accessing the part of me that can be adventurous and get out there. Thank goodness.
So there you have it, my adjustment in California through metaphor. But the one piece here that is missing and has been a huge part of my process is the phone conversations, emails and love from friends far and wide. I must say this has really kept me afloat. I am grateful to have an incredible community of people that throw me emotional life preservers all the time, whether they know it or not. So again, I thank you.
And this post marks the end of my posts on this blog. Since my transition has been well documented, (and the blog neglected for months at a time) I am going to stop this form of communication. Thanks to so many of you that have read or teased me about doing this blog. It has been good to me, kept me in good spirits... and it has lived out its life.
Thanks for reading.
And for some bonus material, I am going to stick up a few other photos from the past three months.
(My Pops getting ready to leave)
(My cousin Alexa and some freshly painted nails)
(A German chocolate cake and one year older)
(The gorgeous bride, Tania with Rebecca and Phil)
(Jill on her first visit West!)
(Alison and I at our favorite bubble tea cafe--post tea)
