Miracles Happen...

Not long ago (2 July 2013, to be precise) I wrote about why I felt that mountain biking was not for me.  It’s true that I’ll never be good at it, but that’s no reason not to enjoy it.  All it needs is a change of philosophy.

Somehow, just facing my inadequacies seems to have changed my philosophy.  You wouldn’t think that such a negative thing could have a positive result, but it has.  It’s almost as though by accepting that I’m rubbish I no longer care whether I am or not.  So I am free to get off and walk, free to miss bits out, and free to “dab” as often as I like. 

This weekend my husband ran another of his mountain bike weekends, and this time I found it impossible to avoid.  Not only was it to be held just 8 miles from my home, but some of my best friends were going to be there and I felt it would be positively cowardly for me to stay away.  So my poor neglected mountain bike, stored for over a year with its bars turned, was dragged into the light of day.  Just to make sure I could ride it I rode the 8 miles to the event, incorporating four climbs into my route - three climbs on tarmac and one off-road. 

Somewhere along the off-road bit I remembered something I'd realised long ago but which I'd forgotten as I'd sunk into self doubt.  This is what I remembered.

For me, mountain biking is about these four things:

Riding routes that a normal bike won’t go
Seeing views you can see no other way
Discovering places you could never reach by road, and
Getting to places by routes which are wild and traffic free.

For some people, it’s not about these things - it’s about overdosing on adrenaline on a man-made trail at a trail centre.  But these trail centres are never going to be my cup of tea.

So the next day, I joined in with the organised ride (the “slow” group, of course) and with bits of walking interspersed amongst my riding, I managed the whole ride.  And the only time I nearly fell off was at the moment when I realised I was enjoying myself.

Clearly time off the knobbly-tyred beast has been good for me.  And Adstone Hill, where my moment of clarity hit me, is a simply stunning spot I shall visit again.  When I do I shall try to remember to photograph it, for the time being though, I have taken the liberty of borrowing a simply fabulous shot from someone called Glen Wood - I hope he doesn't mind!

Picture of the ancient track on Adstone Hill (by Glen Wood)

Change

I feel that change is coming - and change which I must try to look at positively.  I took redundancy two years ago because my delicate health had suffered and I was offered the opportunity.  And for two years I have enjoyed the privilege of not having to work because of my husband’s salary which has kept us both fed and clothed.  Now my husband’s job is ending.

During my unemployed time I have discovered a love of gardening, helped to build a sociable group of knitting cyclists, and rekindled my dormant love of painting.  But some of these activities are only possible in the right environment.  Painting, for example, needs time and space around it; it just isn’t possible to cram a painting into a spare half-hour.

As I ride around I see and feel my inspiration.  I ride amongst hills criss-crossed by field boundaries, and these images lodge in my mind and work their way onto my paper at some future time, normally weeks later.  I stop by a bridge, dismount and climb down to the riverbank. Burned into my memory is a moment of exquisite happiness which I just have to express, either by writing (I have kept a journal for more reasons than I can remember) or by painting.  Cycling feeds my painting, and painting gives a rich dimension to my cycling.

Working can bring many rewards (besides income) of course.  The company of a good and friendly team working with a common goal can be immensely rewarding.  Having a laugh with colleagues is every bit as good as having a laugh with friends.  To find work amongst people who understand the appeal of cycling would be a rare opportunity, but I will seek it nonetheless.  

But if I go back to work, I fear for my painting.  During the 28 years that I worked I only ever found time to paint on the rare occasions that I was off work sick. 

The very thought of losing my painting makes me shiver with a kind of grief.  I must see the positives; but for today at least, I am struggling to do that. 

Dolygaer - one half-hour walk, two training exercises, three trial runs and fourth time lucky with the final painting.