Life Lessons from a 24,901 Mile Bike Ride
I ride my bike almost every morning. I have been doing that since 2009.
Once I started riding every day, I set some goals for myself. At first, I just wanted to try an ride every day. At year’s end, I had pedalled 1500 miles. The next year, I doubled my effort and rode 3030 miles. (Followed by years of 4646, 3838 and 5454 miles)
Yes, I have a thing for numeric patterns and other bike-odometer porn. So, it was only natural that when I picked a goal mileage bigger than the amount I could ride in one year, that the number would have it’s own significance.
On Sunday morning October 26th, 2014, my bike odometer rolled over to my target number: 24,901 miles — the equatorial circumference of the Earth, a goal that I had spent 5 years building my cycling world around.
I didn’t keep track of how many tires, wheels, chains or brake pads I went through. But, by the end of my journey, all that remained of my original bike was the frame and the handlebars.
I wasn’t the same either.
What changed?
I understood that commitment is more important than motivation.
For 5 years, almost every day, I rode 14+ miles. Some mornings, it was easy. I enjoyed every moment of my ride. But there were other days. The ones where I felt mentally exhausted before I got to the end of my driveway.
Regardless of how I felt on any individual day, I never doubted that I would reach my goal.
I was committed. Unwaveringly committed. My motivation on any given day no longer mattered in the big picture. I had already visualized my odometer turning past 24,901 as I cruised down the last hill and finished my ride.
That vision was Truth for me.
I understood the value of patience for the long term.
Truth be told, no one gets up at 6:00 am and rides a bike 24,901 miles before breakfast.
On most days, I got closer to my goal in 14- or 15-mile increments. But, in the early days, that hardly seemed to diminish the vastness of my destination.
I didn’t, however, spend all that time asking myself: “Are we there yet?”
I broke my goal into smaller chunks that I could get my head around. I could ride 14 miles a day. I could ride 100 miles a week. I could ride 420 miles a month. Every day, some goal was met.
I traded thousands of opportunities to be impatient for a continuous stream of successes that made the patience of the long-game manageable.
I learned how to endure.
I was born in South Carolina. I like warm weather. Winter is not my favorite season.
So, I bought a day glow windbreaker, a bamboo skull cap, winter-proof tights, a thermal base layer, hightop shoes, some really-thick socks and a half-dozen pairs of gloves (most of which still left my fingers freezing). I rode through those early morning hours with so many lights that I could have easily been mistaken for a Christmas tree. And when the temperature was only 28 degrees and the rain was pouring from the sky, I thought: “I can ride through anything!”
Then, one morning, the contents of my water bottle froze during my ride.
The frozen water bottle was a great lesson: I can endure anything, but I don’t have to endure everything. I get to choose my limits.
I understood that I was resilient.
Most mornings, I ride through Freedom Park. Maybe, I see 5 people. Occasionally, a deer. I ring my bell. They wave to let me know they heard it. (Not the deer) I pass them and everyone is happy.
However, on a Saturday in August in 2012, the park was filled with runners from a road race. I rang my bell liberally. Most folks moved out of the way. Most, not all. The guy choosing a song on his iPod had no clue that he was walking straight toward me.
I grabbed the brake lever.
I remember being in the air, separated from my bike, and I remember the moment when my face smacked the asphalt. A couple of folks helped me to my feet. I got back on my bike. Bruised, a little bloodied, and I headed home.
All I could say to my wife when I got home was “I fell off my bike.” I was overwhelmed by emotions. I just sat there, sobbing. It wasn’t just the bike. Life had been kicking my ass from every angle.
It would have been easy to never get back on the bike.
But, I did get on the bike again. I have ridden past the spot where the crash happened and I relived the moment a thousand times. No matter how many times I fall, I will always get up.
So, where do I go next?
Those 24,901 miles were lessons in life. They have strengthened how I lead, how I create and how I embrace the unknown.
Wherever I go, I know that I’m more than up for the challenge. Bring it on!
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