Settling In

Yesterday, I walked my bicycle to Allegro for a tune-up. This is something Bryan typically did. The handlebars need to be re-wrapped as the bright pink wrap he put on for me is starting to flake off. The tires need to be checked out–possibly just filled with air. I think the gearing is fine, but the professionals will give it a thourough going over.

Bryan bought this bicycle (Matilda) from Allegro Cyclery for me as a gift when we were just dating. He didn’t have a lot of disposable cash at the time, but he wanted us to have that experience together riding the foothills of the Blues and among Walla Walla wheat fields, the “Batman Loop.” He was endlessly patient with me. Having taught spin classes at the YMCA, preparing groups of riders for the Seattle to Portland ride, guiding new cycling enthusiasts to better safety techniques, he found himself next to a woman who does.not.like being told what to do. Like I said, endlessly patient. He taught me so much about myself, about grit, about digging in, about how headwinds are God’s training aid. (Laugh with me!)

On some of those early bike rides, I remember starting out on flat terrain thinking “Crap, I’m out of breath and tired already. I can’t do this.” Bryan could read me like no one else. “Becci, give it about 15 minutes, you’re just warming up. Then we’ll settle in to the ride.” He was right. He was often right. He could be annoyingly right. But mostly, with me, he was so gentle in being right. Invariably, I would settle in and we could do a 15 mile to a 50 mile ride.

After Bryan passed, I experienced shock and relief from the white-knuckle-gripping-for-dear-life I had been engaged in for the previous four and a half months. Exhausted. Breathless. I do not want to be on this ride. But here I am anyway. And I can feel the transition into settling in–settling in to the weight and consequence and grim reality of his absence. “Just don’t stop pedaling, Becci, you’ll get mored tired if you do. Just keep pedaling. You can do this.”