Bikes and Bodies

Two summers ago I decided to let this boy I knew wisk me away to Branson to be his girlfriend. I had everything on my back. My travel pack was stuffed full of everything I needed (and probably more than what I needed). I had been living in Central California with few responsibilities, less money, and nowhere to be. It turns out it's a lot easier to live without a car out West than it is in Southwest Missouri, so one day Aaron found some bikes on craigslist for me, fixed one of them up, and once again I was mobile. I first got on it and wobbled around a bit, unsure of where the height of the seat should be, afraid to turn a corner too sharp, scared of steep hills. Guy, my childhood neighbor, taught me how to ride when I was five years old. I spent many childhood years riding my bike to the candy store and to the park. It had been awhile, though, and it felt like it was going to take some good practice to get back into the rhythm of this riding-my-bike thing. I struggled up small hills (emphasis on the small), yet braved my way through the streets of Branson in the rain or shine. When I say braved, I mean it. Bransonites aren't exactly used to anyone riding their bikes on the streets. Most of them had no idea what to do with themselves when they found me peddling away off to the right of the lane. But for the sake of my freedom, I endured.
Soon enough I found riding my bike to be some of the most enjoyable moments in my day. I loved leaving my neighborhood on my way to work and passing the RV park next to the lake, shaded and content, old men playing guitar under their awning lit with chili pepper lights. I dreamed and hoped that one day my future husband and I would be a happy old RV couple with chili pepper lights. Laugh. But it's true.
On my way home from work it was usually dark. The humid night air felt refreshing on my bare skin after changing out of my work clothes and into bicycling clothes. My headlamp dimly lit my path in front of me as I headed home and down the hill towards the RV park, once again. A wall of cold air would hit suddenly when I neared the lake, and my soul was filled with joy.
That bike brought me freedom and joy.
Fast forward a bit.
 January 2011: It was horrible. I lost my nephew, my first love left forever on a train, my car broke down, I was broke (all within the same week, mind you). So I moved to Champaign on whim. I had a fever and a sore throat the morning I left to catch the train from the Burbs down to Central Illinois. It was 4am and blizzarding outside. I had a garbage bag and a backpack full of what I needed to get settled but barley had the strength in my body to hold on to it all. Once got moved into Kati and Jeremy's spare bedroom I was going to bed at 8:30 on a nightly basis; My heart was deeply sad.
I finally decided to make a special trip up to Chicago to pick up my beloved bike. My baby. My freedom. I took her everywhere. I fixed her up, gave her new handlebar tape, protected her from the elements, and rode her around town like nobodies business. Once again, she gave me freedom.
My nightly bike rides back from work started to liven my soul and invigorate me once again. Endorphins were flying all over the place! I felt alive. My body loved it, my soul loved it, and I'm pretty sure the environment loved it.
Relying on my bike brought me out of deep pit of sadness. I truly think things would have been different if I hadn't been dependent on her.

Once again, now, back here in Illinois, my bike saves my soul. Coming from a place in Colorado where I was surrounded by beauty, adventure, and freedom, I'm now surrounded by stoplights, cars, and beauty salons. Escape comes but two blocks away from my front door where the Prairie Path begins. I can follow it towards marshes, forests, little lakes, and most recently... Wisconsin.
I have come from struggling up teeny little hills in the road to feeling like my bike is now just another appendage of mine. How amazing is it that we can fit whatever we need on the backs of those things, and they roll with us? Bigger adventures are yet to come. Perhaps one day I'll even get rid of my little Abigail Von Wedge and seek to live with only Abigail Von Bike. Ride Across Illinois? Down the Pacific Coast? Across the Country? Around the world?
I am inspired and invigorated. That bike carries me through and away from hard times, and into adventure and freedom.
What a truly wonderful blessing it has been that my car was stolen three years ago in January. That one incident continues to shape my life. Without that, none of the following years would have evolved as they did.

Our bodies are strong and AMAZING things. God has gifted us with these amazing bodies. Treat it well, do with it what you love to do. Get drugged up by those endorphins. They're life savers.
Remember, though, our bodies and minds are linked together. So much of it is mental. If you think you can, you can. I truly believe that. Tell yourself that you're amazing. You are.

This is a great link:
Women on Wheels