A Meditation On A Ride

Two hours at a time...

That seems to be the pace of my latest recovery.  I've been taking two-hour rides, mainly in and around my neighborhood.  I probably could ride longer, but I am following the orthopedic doctor's advice and erring on the side of caution.

Even so, the rides are invigorating--and interesting:

It would have been one thing to find something like this house in one of this city's Chinatowns--in lower Manhattan, Flushing or Sunset Park.  But this house is on Anthony Avenue, in a neighborhood that is almost entirely Hispanic and African American.  About half a mile to the north is Fordham University and the Arthur Avenue district, often called "the Little Italy of the Bronx."

When you look at the adjoining house, you can see that its bones, so to speak, are like those of nearby houses, even if the skin, if you will, is that of an ashram.  

When I looked at it for a couple of minutes, its location seemed a little less incongruent.  After all, I had to pedal up a hill--not steep or long, but a hill nonetheless--to reach it.  Also, since Zen practice is not (at least as I understand it) about social status or material wealth, it may make sense that it's in a neighborhood that hasn't been struck by gentrification.

Whatever the reasons why it is where it is, seeing it made the ride more interesting--and caused me to forget about the slowness of my recovery.  

Recovery , In June And Now

Because I felt so good after my Saturday ride, I thought I could go a little further on Sunday.  So I pedaled down to DUMBO and looped along the waterfront under the Manhattan Bridge.  In all, I cycled for about an hour and a half--about half an hour longer than I rode on Saturday.

To give you some perspective, my Saturday ride was about as long as my commute was, round trip.  So, while Sunday's ride was longer, it still barely seemed like a "baby" ride, at least in comparison to what I'm accustomed to doing.

Yesterday, I mentioned all of this to my orthopedic doctor. I also told him that immediately after my Sunday ride, I felt good but late that night I started to feel pain where my muscle strained.  "You have to listen to your body," he said--specifically, that part of my body.  "It's still healing," he reminded me.  So are my gashes, though more rapidly. "They're looking good."

There's an irony in all of this:  The injuries from my June accident were more serious, but my recovery from this mishap might be slower.  Because I'd crashed face-first and there was slight bleeding by my brain, there was the potential--which, thankfully, wasn't realized--of some real damage.  But after going about three weeks without headaches (and never having experienced dizziness), I was ready to ride and built myself back to something like my earlier condition in a few weeks.  On the other hand, my recovery seemed more certain this time, but my injuries are in my leg, so it affects the pace of my cycling more than my earlier injuries.

My doctor counsels patience.  I trust him but, damn, I want to go back to riding as many miles as I did before the accident!

What My Recovery Is Telling Me.

"Recovery tells you what it needs."

Madelyn, a social worker/addiction counselor uttered those words of wisdom years ago.  I worked with her, for a time, when I was conducting writing workshops for kids whose family members were in, or recovering from, addictions.

Her words are making a lot of sense to me now. To her pearl of wisdom, I would add that a recovery tells you what you're ready to do.   I want to ride as much, and at the same pace, as I did before my accident.  If I'd crashed back when I was working with her, it might have been possible.  Actually, I believe that it will be.  It's just taking longer than it might've in my youth.

Still, Madelyn probably would have told me--even then--that I was doing well.  (She wasn't a cyclist, but I think she spent some time in a gym.)  The other day, I did another ride to Point Lookout:  120 km round-trip.  Two days before that, I took my first ride to Connecticut since my crash.

My trek to the Nutmeg State was particularly gratifying, not only because it was longer (140 km) and hillier.  When I got home, I feel as if I'd finished the trip I took the day I crashed, when my ride back from Greenwich ended in New Rochelle, about 30 kilometers from my apartment.

I was happy to have done both of those rides, but they further enhanced the meaning of my old collaborator's words:  I was more tired at the end of the Connecticut ride than I'd been the last time I completed it. Oh, and even though I slathered my skin with sunscreen, my skin took on quite the lobster hue.  Whenever my skin absorbs a lot sun, I get sleepy.

I got what I needed before, during and after I rode.   Madelyn knew what she was talking about.

One More Ride To Normal

We've all heard that, as a result of the COVID-19 epidemic, some things "won't be the same."  We have some ideas about some of the things that might change--schools, workplaces and such--but we also know that there will be changes that few, if any, of us can predict.

That, I believe, motivates us to want--and celebrate--a return to things that are familiar.

What I have just described can also describe recovering from a major illness, accident or other trauma.  At least, that's how I feel about the aftermath of my crash.

Finally getting on my bike last week, if only for a short ride, was a sign that at least something in my life was on its way to normalcy.  Riding again the other day--and making a dessert I've wanted to make for a long time--was another.

Yesterday I took another step--or ride, if you will--toward life as I knew it.

For the first time in more than a month, I pedaled to Point Lookout.  At 120 kilometers, give or take, it's the longest ride I've done since my accident.  

The good news is that in my neck and shoulders, where pain has persisted, feel better than they did yesterday or at any time in the past month.  I still feel some twinges and stiffness, but simply holding my head up doesn't tire me.  

I felt pretty good in general.  The only "bad news," if you can call it that, is that I felt more tired than I usually feel at the end of such a ride. Part of my fatigue was a result of not having done such a ride in more than a month.  Another part of my tiredness came from having pedaled into a fairly brisk wind from the southeast, under a bright sun, all the way to Point Lookout.  Of course, I had the wind at my back on my way home, but there was still nothing between me and solar rays but my sunscreen.

What I've said about the sun and wind isn't a complaint:  I could hardly have had a more beautiful day on which to complete one more step on my return to what is normal in my life.  I wonder what will change.

Helmets Off

For a long time, I resisted wearing a helmet.  Then again, when I was becoming a serious cyclist, helmet-wearing hadn't become the norm.  

These days, if I leave my apartment with my bike and without my helmet, I quickly realize that something is off.  I feel as if I were in one of those dreams where I'm naked and everyone else is clothed.  

Just as what you wear can be a life-and-death matter (especially in extreme weather), protecting your head can protect a lot of other things.  The doctor at the hospital told me as much:  As much of a mess as I was after my recent accident, I at least don't seem to have brain or spine injuries.

I have had two occasions when, if wearing a helmet didn't save my life, it at least spared me worse injuries.  The first time, a truck driver flung his door open into my side, sending me on the one and only somersault I've ever done on a bicycle.  I came out of it with a sprained wrist.  A few years later, I rode up the wrong side of a BMX mound and did an unintentional "flip."  My helmet literally broke in two, but I--and my bike--remained intact.

After such experiences, you might (understandably) expect me to wonder what members of the Tacoma city council were thinking.

Last week, they voted for an ordinance that, among other things, repeals the city's law--on the books since 1994--requiring for helmets for cyclists. 

Lisa Kaster, a senior planner and active transportation planner for the city, cited "outdated, inconsistent code language" that "doesn't align with best practices or city and state policy" as a motive for the the Council's action.  

As in many other cities, bicycling has become a bona fide means of transportation as well as recreation in Tacoma.  Also, other forms of non-motorized mobility, such as scooters and skates, have gained popularity.  It seems that Council members faced the same dilemma that vexes their counterparts in other cities:  How can a law be written to be fair and relevant to current practices yet flexible enough to accommodate change?

Interestingly, Washington--like most other US states--requires helmets for motorcycle riders.

While I encourage people to wear helmets, I am still not certain that such a practice should be mandated.  At least, I don't think requiring helmets will prevent all, or even most, serious head injuries, not to mention other maladies.  Wearing a helmet while engaging in unsafe practices, such as wearing headphones or riding against traffic will not protect the helmet's wearer--or anyone else.

I Will Survive: I Ride Again

Gloria Gaynor is most famous for I Will Survive.

I could have sung that to myself yesterday.

For my birthday, I simply had to end my longest spell without cycling in eleven years.  

In 2009, I didn’t ride through most of the summer and fall. I was recovering from my gender-affirmation surgery. Although I missed riding, my doctor, therapist, friends and others helped me to prepare for my “vacation” from it.  Also, I gave up those few months in the saddle for something I’d wanted for a very long time.

On the other hand, my latest spell without riding was induced by something that I did not foresee when I slung my leg over my bike.  Most of us are aware that a crash or some    other mishap can befall us, but I suspect that few, if any, of us ponder that possibility as we put our feet to the pedals.

The seeming randomness of my situation could explain why I felt more anxiety—and, perhaps paradoxically, urgency—about going for a ride.  

Oddly enough, I was more worried about having lost strength and endurance during my latest period of healing than I was after the much longer period without riding that followed my surgery.  Of course, my memory of walking up climbs no steeper than highway ramps in those days colored my perception of what my latest return to cycling would be like.

That fear, thankfully, was unfounded.  Then again, I rode maybe 10 kilometers, so my legs weren’t challenged.  I also didn’t notice any change in my balance or anything else.

I have to admit, though, I had an “oh no, not again moment when a delivery guy on an electric bike whipped around a turn and directly into my path.  

We could have collided head-on. We didn’t.  He could have side-swiped me and caused me to crash.  He didn’t. I could have cursed him out, in English or Spanish. I didn’t.  

Neither of us knew what the other had experienced a moment, a day or a month prior—or would experience.  There were only our roads ahead of us, whether or not they would intersect again.

His next delivery, my next ride.  Fate brought us to that moment.  For now, at least, I know I can ride again because I rode yesterday and many days before.  I have survived;
I hope I will continue to survive, and ride.

My Age

Je suis le soleil.

I am the law.

Believe it or not, Donald Trump didn't utter the first of the above declarations, mainly because he doesn't speak French. (He barely speaks English.)  But if he could--or if he had any flair for figurative language--he would. "I am the sun" would sum up the way he sees himself.

He probably wishes he could make the second statement.  Sometimes I think he hired Rudy Giulani for the express purpose of finding a loophole in the Constitution that would allow him to appropriate such power unto himself.

Now I am going to say something just as audacious and ridiculous--and something El Cheeto Grande has fever-dreams about saying:  I am this country.

How is that?, you ask.  Well, today is Independence Day here in the US. Or, as some people like to say, it's this nation's birthday.

It's also my birthday.  And I am identifying myself with this American nation because, for the first time, I feel as old.

My wounds are healing and I have to go for another MRI in a week.  Hopefully, it won't tell me I'm not as well as I feel because, well, I'm used to feeling better than I feel now.

Fourth of July Bike Ride, 1934

I might get on my bike today.  If it doesn't leave me in more pain--and if I don't crash--I'm sure I'll feel younger, or at least better.

If only a "cure" for this country, or this world, were so simple!

I'm sorry for whining.

On The Mend

I'm still on the mend, but I hope to be on my  bike soon.

Meantime, I've been taking some walks.  My energy level is still low:  Simple tasks tire me out.  Perhaps the worst part of this is the pain I'm still feeling in my shoulders and down the sides of my neck.  The doctor says it's muscle strains and pulls; there isn't much I can do but to "let them heal."

Only Marlee is happy about the situation:  She loves to cuddle, and I'm more available than usual!

We want to thank you for your support!   Once again, here is my GoFundMe page.