BALM: Week 3 Day 7

I never liked roller coasters much. The initial uphill is too frightening. The lifting chain creaks, either side of the rail is a sheer drop, the chain creeks even more, pulling you up, as the rail begins to disappear, and then all you see is sky, the seeming abyss ahead dropping in your stomach.

Today was a day of climbing steep hills. Actually, I think we were climbing the lush side of sand dunes. That's the way they seem to be: the inland side is lush forest that becomes sparse toward the top, and then there's sand at the top and down the face to the shoreline.

Today, climbing these hills, 'Anders creaked, groaned, and wobbled. At times I shifted into the granny gear too late, and the dérailleur would hesitate, then clank and crunch, and finally shift into an easier spin. The bike would climb and climb, at times dropping under three miles per hour, the speed at which my Garmin bike computer beeps and enters pause mode. But still the bike wobbled forward.

In a moment like this you hope you're not in a narrow shoulder and you see in your mirror a car or truck or RV speeding up the hill behind you. What would you do if your bike wobbled from the shoulder into the road? Splat! Your death would partially be your fault. In instances like this I've sometimes panicked, bailing off the bike and tumbling down the sloping side of the hill. Better safe than sorry. I always blame the driver.

But you always near the top, unable to see beyond the crest, all you see is sky and the end of the tree line on both sides of the hill. It's like speeding up a hill in a car and you hope the road continues on the other side.

That's what you hope in the roller coaster: that the rail continues once you breach the top. And it does, and the ride becomes a free fall. You drop, your hair blows back, your shirt hugs your skin, your stomach rises from the abyss. You're now in frightening mode. You are the ride.

That's how it was today as I breached the crests of hills. 'Anders would wobble over the top, point his front wheel down, slowly picking up speed, then going faster, faster, faster, all the while shifting into lower gears, until I was hitting, at times, 35 mph. At such a speed on your bike, you hope it holds together, that the wheels stay true, that they don't go flat, that the breaks will work, that the pedals don't freeze, and that the seat post is sturdy and doesn't snap. You hope you don't wreck. For if you do, well, let's not go there.

Today, cresting the hills, when 'Anders pointed his front wheel down, I trusted him completely. Wrecking was out of the question. I held him straight. We leaned into curves. We let go.

Follow the BALM

The Stained Cup

Going up

And up

Arcadia Dunes

Stairway from top down to beach