Midlife Hitchiker?

 Who hitchhikes in midlife?

Well, if you accept that my definition—the one that shapes this blog—anyone who doesn’t know when their life will end and solicits a ride from a stranger is a midlife hitchhiker.

That said, I don’t expect to stand with my thumb out or hold a sign on a roadside. That has nothing to do with age. Or maybe it does: Some things I would have ventured simply don’t seem worth the risks—which may or may not be greater than they were.

I did hitch a couple of rides in my youth, but they weren’t part of my plans, such as they were. Once, a guy who looked like he had whisky and cigarettes for breakfast took me across a bridge where cyclists weren’t allowed and had no walkway. Another time, a fellow with a voice that could’ve leveled the nearby hills gave me a lift into town after I trashed my rear wheel. Both men took me and my bike in pickup trucks that looked like their drivers actually used them on their jobs.

Anyway, I have never taken a hitchhiking trip. I could make the excuse that I was born a few years too late to be a hippie. Or maybe I’m less adventurous than I may have led you to believe I am. 

You could say, perhaps, that I have taken hitchhikers with me, if unintentionally. I’ve found ladybugs—which I don’t see nearly as often as I once did—on my clothes, bags and helmet at the end of a ride. Also, butterflies have landed on me or my handlebars.  Did they want to take a rest ? Oh, and I’ve picked up a puppy and a kitten, which I brought to a police station.

I got to thinking about those “free rides” when I came across this article about another “hitchhiker.” Scientists in Costa Rica found a remora (also known of as a suckerfish) attached to the shell of an olive ridley sea turtle.

What astonished the scientists was not that the remora “hitchiked”: They attach themselves, not only to sea turtles, but also to rays, sharks and whales. But they normally remain on their host as long as it’s swimming because they need to have oxygen from the water flowing over their gills. The scientists, who were observing other aquatic and amphibious life, saw the turtle leave the water for 19 minutes: far longer than they would normally survive without their supply of oxygen.

I wondered where that remora was trying to go. In any event, I imagine it has no idea of when it will die. So, by my definition, it’s a midlife hitchhiker.

(Infrared photo by Megan Bullock for BBC. Remora is near the peak of the turtle’s shell.)

The Cure

 No matter how much money we spend on bikes (or anything related to them), it’s still less than at least one of the alternatives:

Screen and Shade on Midlife Rides

 

Yesterday I pedaled to Point Lookout and back. Today I trekked to Fort Totten. I have done both rides many times. But during the past two days I have noticed—or, perhaps, simply admitted—something.

We’ve had the best weather in weeks: Daytime high temperatures reached 27C (80-81F) after early-morning lows of 17-18C (63-65F). And smoke from Canadian wildfires has cleared, at least for now, and left blue skies full of bright sunshine.

That last quality has become both a blessing and a curse:  It makes me want spend all day riding but, I believe, also tires me out even more than heat. Perhaps my melanin-deficient skin has grown more sensitive in the (ahem) middle of my life.

 When I first started to use sunscreen—some time after I started my gender affirmation (what we used to call “transition”)—I used the least expensive ones I could find. Granted, some store brands have the same formulations as “name” brands. But I wasn’t paying much attention to those ingredient lists or SPF ratings.

That is, until my trip to Cambodia and Laos in 2018. I was much closer to the equator than I’d been before, or have been since. Before I left, someone advised me to get “the strongest” sunscreen I could find.  I brought a tube of 100 SPF lotion with me. It was more stronger than I needed even there and after I returned home, I went back to using the least expensive stuff—usually 30 SPF.

A few years ago, I “upgraded” to 50 SPF. But for rides along the ocean (e.g., much of my ride to Point Lookout) or other large bodies of water, I cover myself with 70 SPF.  Even so, I did something else yesterday and today I never would have imagined in my younger days: I stopped simply to sit in shade for a few minutes—even though I was near the end of each ride. Not so long ago, I would have thought, “I don’t have far to go” and continued to pedal.  

Did I “need” to stop? Even if I didn’t, I don’t regret that I did, any more than I regret using a stronger sunscreen. It just felt good: the same reason I continue to cycle in midlife!