THE MOUNTAIN

As I rolled into town, a sense of relief flooded my being. I had accomplished the set objective, but things certainly hadn't gone as planned. Though I'd trained for months preparing for this bicycle trip, the challenges along the way were impossible to foresee.

The idea of spending my vacation cycling from Columbus Ohio to Gettysburg Pennsylvania occurred on a ride with my friends. I had wanted to try something new to challenge my mental and physical stamina. I had run the Boston Marathon five years earlier so I was familiar with what endurance training entailed. 

The 350-mile bike trip was set for August of 1986.

The day arrived unceremoniously. My bicycle was weighted down with bags on either side of the rear wheel, another on the rack behind the seat, and a pouch attached to the handlebars. They contained clothes and the essentials for camping out at night, including a tent. 

I was to speak at a church near Gettysburg and what better way to create a stir than to arrive on a bicycle. My friends planned to drive over the following weekend to bring me back to Ohio. Making this trip alone was probably a bad idea. Several hundred miles lay before me and sharing the road with speeding vehicles is inherently dangerous. 

I justified it with my need to get away for a time of introspection ... when, in truth, I was just stubbornly adventurous. A risk-reward balancing act distinguished my life, always planning for the next adrenalin-induced romp.

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So it began.

Eighty miles on the first day brought me to the east side of Ohio where the hills started to test my leg muscles. It was hot and humid. I stayed hydrated by drinking a lot of water, stopping often to refill the bottles. Camping out behind an abandoned farm the first night, proved to be a costly decision. My mind raced with thoughts of the impending route through the hills. Mosquitoes swarmed. I was covered in sweat and couldn't sleep. I rose the next morning and came to the conclusion that hotel rooms would be in order for the remainder of the trip. The body needs rest when tested to this extent, and sleeping on the ground wasn't going to provide it. 

The second day crashed down on me like an enemy seeking to destroy an unwelcome intruder. The hills became mountains as I passed into West Virginia and Pennsylvania. A tailwind out of the west was supposed to aid me on my trip. Instead, a driving rainstorm with a fierce headwind pelted my face, arms, and legs. It stung ... turning my skin crimson. The ride became increasingly dangerous because of the water flowing down the side of the road. 

Coal trucks barreled by, belching out a noxious exhaust as their diesel engines strained up the inclines. The path for the bike tires was very narrow now. The distance between the dangers of being hit by a car on my left .... and plummeting down the slope on my right, became inches at times.

Hours went by faster than the miles did. Worry started to creep in, so I distracted myself by trying to learn the alphabet backward,  Z Y X W V U T S R Q P O N M .... but ... the 'enemy' decided to ratchet up the degree of difficulty.  A road sign reading "Steep Incline Next 7 Miles" seemed to mock me as it waggled in the violent wind. I was soaked to the core and blackened by the coal trucks. Already exhausted beyond anything I had ever experienced ... I now faced my greatest test.

I had to eventually dismount and push the bicycle up the mountain because there wasn't a gear low enough to pedal the incline. Leg muscles screamed, as my heart and lungs worked overtime. The journey was now being measured in plodding steps. My personal 'Everest' finally gave me a token gift, a small niche in the cliff face where I could stop for a while. I propped the bike against the inlet wall and, with trembling legs, lowered myself onto a rain-drenched rock. 

A few minutes later, out of fear and frustration, a guttural outburst aimed at God echoed against the rocks ... 'I CAN'T DO THIS!'

His gentle response whispered to my heart ... 'I didn't ask it of you'.

Tears fell as I suddenly realized my folly. 'Introspection' was the proclaimed reason I gave for this self-aggrandizing trip ... I had no idea how prophetic that was. A new understanding of my foolish and selfish behavior caused me to ask for God's forgiveness and forgiveness came. After drinking some water I gathered myself enough to start the push again. As I guided the bicycle up the mountain, my thoughts were on the spiritual aspects of my life instead of the physical trauma my body was experiencing. I hardly noticed as trucks angrily blasted their horns and the unrelenting rain fell.

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At the summit stood an old motel, the kind that has 7 or 8 rooms in a row with an office at one end. No cars were in the parking lot so I couldn't tell if anyone was around. I knocked on the office door which doubled as the entrance to the owner's residence. An old woman appeared. She gave me a concerned look, shook her head, and said 'Look at you'. 

As if anticipating my arrival, she sat me down at her kitchen table, made a sandwich, and asked about my trip. I wondered how many others, humbled by the mountain, had stumbled into her motel over the years. She graciously allowed me to take a shower as she washed and dried my clothes.

Mounting the bike a few hours later, I left with a warning (and a smile) from my kind host, "Be careful, it's downhill for several miles. Don't get goin' too fast". The weather had calmed. My spirit had mended, along with my body. 

More hills, more miles, more time ... the rest of the trip went by without incident.

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On a cloudless Sunday morning, I stood behind the pulpit of the Gettysburg church to bring words of encouragement to the assembled congregation. Little did they know that the man who was about to deliver the sermon was not the same man who left Ohio five days ago. 

Along the road, somewhere on the side of a tall mountain, lay my pride.