Riding in granny gear

 I’ve just finished a book called Tough Broad by Caroline Paul. Since it’s a hard-cover book and not an audio book, it took me quite a while to finish it but taking breaks between chapters works. Each chapter is about a different older woman who does adventurous things. All of these women are from mid 50’s to 90 years old and the stuff they are doing is amazing (crazy?) One woman has taken up ‘wing walking’ where you climb into a biplane and then climb out of it and tether yourself to a pole on the wing once it’s high up in the sky. Yikes! Definitely not my idea of fun.

Another woman started flying gyrocopters and the flight with the author ended in a rather exciting landing. If I remember correctly, she had to abort the landing four or five times before they actually made it onto the ground. Another of the women featured in the book base jumps from El Capitan and, because it’s illegal, gets herself arrested and has her gear confiscated.

I read about all of these women, some older than I am, with equal parts admiration and disbelief. Perhaps because I’m not fond of heights it’s the base jumpers, wing walkers and gyrocopter pilots who stand out to me. It’s not so much wondering why they do it as admiring the fact that they have the energy to pry themselves out of their chairs and get to the airfield, or up the mountain.

I used to get up on the weekend having been sleep deprived all week, excited as a kid at Christmas, to go cycling, or hiking, or cross-country skiing, or canoeing. Now I get up lazily, have a cup of tea, look out the window, then have another cup of tea. I know that if I manage to get out the door I will enjoy hiking or cycling. I take another look outside, then look at the forecast and decide it’s going to be too hot, or it might rain, or I really should have gotten up earlier if I wanted to do this today. Then I get annoyed with myself and end up being grumpy for the rest of the day. Does that make sense? No, of course not, and I don’t understand why I don’t just get my butt out there.

Anyway, last night around 8:00 I was looking outside trying to decide whether to get on my bike and do my regular circuit. It rained most of the day and the ‘severe thunderstorm warning’ flashed on and off like a broken traffic light. I checked the sunset time. I had time to go for a ride before it got dark. So, I did the unusual thing, put on my cycling shoes and my helmet and went for a ride. I do love being on my bike which is why it’s so puzzling to me that it takes so much effort to get out the door.

My circuit is about 3 km around the neighbourhood. There’s nothing special about it except that I don’t have to cross any major roads, and there’s hardly any traffic. From our house it’s uphill slightly and on the return there’s a good run downhill with a right hand turn at the bottom. My phone tells me that I gained a total of 77 meters in elevation and that’s over 3 circuits. Whoop de do!

I don’t mind the repetition. I spend the time remembering the many many miles of cycling I’ve done over the years, in the blazing heat, in the rain, and in the days soft with cloud and at just the right temperature, days of climbing mountains one pedal stroke at a time, and days of 100km. Our standard distance on a long ride was 80 km a day and our longest day ever was from Prince George BC to McBride a distance of 214 km.

As I huff my way up the gradual hill and go to shift down I realize that I’m in granny gear,  the lowest gear I have. Really? On a hill like this? Then I decide to give myself a break. At least I’m out here, in the evening, on my bike. At least today I’m doing it and not sitting watching YouTube.

As I turn down the next hill there are some dog walkers ahead of me. One guy who isn’t walking a dog but is with the group, is walking in the middle of the road. I realize that I don’t have a bell so I wait until I’m close enough to be heard and announce, “On your left.” I know that’s a very cyclist thing to say but figure it’s better than, “Get out of the way, you moron!” He jumps at the sound of my voice, moves toward the curb and gives me a sheepish grin as I glide by. At that moment I am a cyclist again. I don’t know if it will be enough to get me back on the bike tomorrow but when I get home I’m pleasantly tired; I have revisited some of the cycling of the past;  I have covered  9 km; and I remember why I love to cycle. No promises, but if I manage to get myself out of the house regularly  there will be a day when I won’t need my granny gear to get up that hill. Stay tuned.