The White Rim tour was challenging. It was so hard for me. Physically and mentally. I did all the things to train. I rode the shit out of my bike in the hardest places I could regularly. I hired a trainer to help me develop the muscles I would need. I walked. I breathed heavy. I drank water.
I felt ready.
I was ready.
And, I was not.
I had no real idea of what it would be like riding my bike in such a strange and mysterious place as the desert.
I didn’t choose this adventure because I thought it would be easy. There is powerful growth that comes from stepping into the hard things that push you to the edge of who you are. I signed on for this work. I would sign on again tomorrow even knowing what I Now know.
The desert served me up a nice big slice of humble pie.
I have asthma. I did not acclimate to the elevation well. I struggled with breathing the entire time. The heat wore me down. The wind pushed me onto the edge. Thankfully for the friends I made, I was sheltered from the hail beating me.
There were beautiful glimpses of a sea whose waves slapped the shores of land long evaporated by the sun that shines over me now. There are layers of soil deposits millennia deep that were blown in by the same winds from my home in the rolling hills that were once the great Appalachian Mountains. The dry plants soften and bloom with the rain in vibrant color contrast to the sand and clay. The water shapes the surface as it moves through in flash floods powerfully. The sand is alive with the most primordial of life.
Looking upon this place the elements that I struggled with draw me into them. Tears flow because that is all I have. There are no words.
Within the pedaling there are uncomfortable glances at ugliness, fear, loneliness, withdrawal, depletion. There was pain. And it was there more than it wasn’t.
These feelings are not new to me. They are not new to anyone.
On this journey, especially on my second day of riding, the mirror on the horizon was right in my face showing me all my weaknesses every second of the day until it broke me and I laid down and it had me.
At camp, looking out over a canyon for hundreds of miles - island in the sky to my back - my sister Andrea beside me.. I decided it couldn’t have me. The darkness was the work. I was going to settle into the discomfort and decide what I gave to it. I was honest with myself when I had to be, but I gave it everything I had.
I am so glad for Andreas' faith in me to be able to face the darkness and trust the strength she has seen in me. Her straight up telling me to put on my big girls pants and trust myself was the push I most needed.
Push through i did.
I also cried. And I cried. And I cried.
The earth is so beautiful. The way it evolves takes time. It takes patience. It takes milenia. Sands have to mix. Expansion happens. Boulders fall. It looks different because it is always changing. It shapes itself depending on the elements that thrive the best in that space and time. It’s overwhelming.
In the desert it is dry. Hot. Filled with the effort of survival. Every time I looked up my breath was taken away by the gift of getting to witness the passing of time on the walls of the rock formations. I just wanted to look out into the expanse before me.. to stand on the edge of time and emptiness and look out onto the masterpiece that was shaped by the elements that were affecting me physically.
The actual bike riding itself was easy. I ride much more difficult terrain here in Georgia. Getting up each day to make the decision to see this place by bike was a no brainer. I love riding a bike. .
Riding into camp on the third night after some of the best riding of my life was delightful.
And then the wind blew powerfully kicking up sand and making it nearly impossible to fasten down my tent. When I went to bed my tent was flapping so hard I was afraid the poles would snap. I woke to it bending so deeply that it was only inches from my face. The poles never broke. The wind died down. My body rested. I accepted what was. The darkness no longer had me.
The final day of the ride was physically the hardest. And day two was pretty fucking bad. We had already been 60 or so miles. I woke up ready for more, but the climb out of the canyon was brutal. 1200 or so feet of climbing in a little less than three miles. And that is after some rain and hail soaked us. Our group was well timed meeting up and we were able to all squeeze into an outhouse together to wait for most of the lighting and hail while laughing about the absurdity of our situation.
Beginning the climb it was still raining bringing the temperature down significantly. I was cold and wet - the total opposite of Days 1 and 2. But, we dig in, find strength from the corners of our being and we move forward because what else can we do? I made it maybe half a mile before I had to start walking. I’d walk my bike 500ft of elevation - stop, catch my breath, look at where I had been,cry/laugh, and climb again. It was AWESOME. It sounds terrible but it wasn’t.
Our guide, Dave, stopped to check if I wanted a ride because the tour had been so physically hard on me. He spent the most time helping me deal and he knew I was pretty energetically depleted. With his encouragement though I proceeded forward. Bit by bit. Pedaling when I could. The other guide came back and rode with me once everyone else had made it to the top. He was the perfect company - a kindred spirit and somehow an old friend.
Slow going was an understatement.
But, do you know what? I MADE IT. And it was so worth it. I rode my bike to the finish line. And my new friends? They clapped and cheered for me. And I wept.
This journey was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Overcoming my physical body's weaknesses, being okay with how it went, who I am, and just showing up to ride my bike - which was ridiculously fun. I would go back tomorrow and do it again in a heartbeat.
I was DFL (dead fucking last) but not DNF (did not finish). Andrea is my hero. And her faith in me is priceless in my moments of doubt. If you see her, tell her she is beautiful. She needs to be reminded from time to time. The guides, Dave and Noe, couldn’t have been more kind or more caretaking. If you ever have the chance to ride with them you should. The other riders I will carry with me the rest of my life - their smiles, stories, and strength.
I am profoundly grateful to all the people who support me in big and small ways. Most especially jason, india, kalib, my folks, my teammates at the hub, and my trainer sarah g who reminds me regularly that I am capable of whatever I want to do, and, of course, Andrea. The strength you all have is what sustains me forward.
Will I go back? You bet I will.
