Balding Biking Blues

The balding cyclist sallied forth upon his aging bike with a balding tire. This trip ended after 100 feet. A “pop” heard behind him was followed by the rotating dopplering “whoosh whoosh whoosh” indicative of a flattening tire. Eight days earlier, that same tire had conveyed him for 104 miles of a very “strange” ride, rife with colorful Metropolitan Community Church jerseys and zealous for that most politically correct of causes, research to treat a totally preventable disease.

And here's today's story:

Since the Raven Rock Ramble hadn't gotten my registration (there are reasons to declutter your living space!) I signed up for a consolation century the day before, May 5. It started at the State Capital grounds on a cool, misty, overcast Saturday morning. In keeping with the theme of the event (AIDS awareness/education/propaganda), it was a good day for this rider to keep quiet. Still, it was weird to hear a guy talking about “my church” and “my boyfriend.”



Gentler pace overall, and best support this side of the Peanut Festival – every 15 miles or less, except for final 19 mile stretch. The route took us through strange streets in Raleigh, North to Creedmoor, a lovely rural city, then through Orange County to northern Durham. After the first thirty miles or so, I was averaging 13.4 mph.[1] Saw a biplane flying over the lake through the mist. The drizzle turned into a gentle rain as I pedaled a long stretch down East Geer Street. Amazing how many churches we passed.

While standing behind the Motricity fountain near the Durham Bulls Stadium 60-some miles into the trip, I joined up with Beth, whose team had deserted her, and Dave, a recumbent rider. Down University Drive, Hope Valley Road, Barbee, 54, Revere, and Sedwick. Vicky and I may have passed each other unawares at that rest stop. Relished role as native guide and actually saw my shadow on Hopson.



Cary was weird. Hilly, and multiple transits of 54.[2] Final stretch thru a bike path that started behind the Museum of Art had some wretched excess ups and downs. Avg. mph dropped from 13.1 to 13.0 during this stretch. “Are you cold?” “Yes!” “Honest answer!” Decided on KPIC tee shirt instead of performance fabric shirt that day. Down Hillsborough St., to the capital, walked onto the grounds, “Hey, your cell phone is ringing.” No hanging around for hot dogs – straight home for shower and Mr. Wok.

My bike now has a kevlar-reinforced rear tire, the better to resist punctures while rolling along under excess load.

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[1] Handy rule of thumb: see how fast you can ride 10 miles, the subtract 2 mph to establish a good pace for a 100 mile ride. As my dear friend and mentor the late Keith Helmink said, "If you can ride one mile, you can ride ten miles. If you can ride 10 miles, you can ride 100 miles."

[2] I just finished reading How Many Hills to Hillsboro?, a forgettable book I’d wanted to read for decades. A New Jersey family decides to see the country on two wheels, during the late '60s. It's interesting to note how much better our equipment is nowadays. In terms of emotional payoff, however, this book is low-octane when compared to Peter Jenkins' delightful A Walk Across America. Although the "Hillsboro" writer was an associate editor for Guideposts magazine, the name of Jesus never came up, and I saw no references to church attendance or any other religious observances. Peter Jenkins was far more forthright about his pilgrimage. When he insisted that his conversion was the highlight of the whole trek, the senior editor at National Geographic ordered that part of the story included.

A Revelation of Oz

A century ago, money issues filled the headlines. Older citizens recalled the way Lincoln’s greenbacks, fiat paper currency printed up to finance the war between the states, had generated a fraudulent illusion of wealth. Although the reappearance of the gold standard had paved a safe highway for business, a bombastic orator known as "the lion of the prairies" crusaded for a bimetallic standard. Silver, he said, would provide the way home to a longed-for era of security.

Even if you don’t know the political trends L. Frank Baum satirized so gleefully, The Wizard of Oz is still a fun book to read. Dorothy’s slippers were silver, you see.

Strange thoughts cross your mind when you worship with an active imagination. As I joined our church in hymns that magnified the One who sits upon the throne to receive worship from humanity, and from all of creation, I thought of another book, a book of the Bible that can be exegeted as a worship service. A book that dealt with political trends of its own day – an arrogant empire, suffering from the political chaos of wars of succession. An apostate people who’d once known God’s favor, but decided instead to throw in their lot with that empire. A desperate remnant, struggling to deal with pressure from pagans and apostates on the outside, and corroding corruption inside its own doors. A mad emperor, named by name in a clever anagram.

You don’t need to know the historical background of the Book of Revelation to enjoy its celebration of the reigning and conquering Messiah. But knowing the context does add depth, richness, and joy to the worshiping saint’s experience.

(for the record -- 90+% of John's Revelation was current events to its first readers, and is ancient history to us now.)