Yesterday afternoon I was sitting on the front steps of my house reading and listening to the sounds of summer - the enmeshed calls of various birds, so different in their songs, yet so harmoniously synced in their melodies; the distant hum of a lawnmower; and the far away laughter of children. The air was cool in the shade. As the sunlight streamed through the passing clouds, it warmed my skin with its gentle embrace. I took a few deep breaths, put my book down, glanced skyward and thought, "this moment is now - this sky, the coolish summer air, the smells, the sounds, these clouds passing by - this is all right now, right in this moment." I wondered if in two short months as I was biking around Lake Superior if I would look skyward, take in my surroundings, and remember this time, this day sitting on my front steps. It was a moment of intense clarity and I felt very present - present in time and present with myself.
Since my first blog post about biking around Lake Superior, the trip and its meaning and purpose have changed so much in some aspects. Having to deal with some realities, like lack of money and gear, I had reduced the trip to only doing some parts of it this summer and the rest next year. I also lost my biking partner to other obligations. The massive fundraiser it was going to be for my friend's program completely fell through. The time and energy it would take to do that kind of fundraising was too much. As much as I want to help my friend's program, I think adding that kind of technicality to this ride detracted from the personal meaning and energy I needed to put into it. I need to stay emotional about this ride and not fall back on technicalities, which I am so good at when my emotions come into the picture. This is different. This ride, when I really think about it, has so much incredible meaning to me mostly because I am literally giving myself up to the Universe and having faith in something I cannot see, cannot hear, cannot touch, cannot taste, and cannot smell. All of the fear that I have about this trip - the loneliness at times, the distance, the conditions, how my body will hold up, if it will hold up, and being alone navigating all sorts of challenges - it's enough to drop me to my knees and reduce me to tears. I am scared. But, bigger than my fear is my determination. I am letting that carry me through to August. And, when August comes, I will let it carry me through my solo ride around the largest body of fresh water in the world!
I have been reading this book called Deep Water Passages by Ann Linnea. I am only halfway through but it is an incredible story about Ann's kayaking trip around Lake Superior over a summer in the mid 90s. She is the first woman to take such a trip. Even only halfway through this book is an inspiration to me. I hear her words, I feel her pain, I embrace her sadness, and I want her to keep pressing on. I want to keep pressing on. I want to break through those points where the body wants to give up and quit. I want to move through the pain. I want to fight through kicking, screaming, crying, and cursing whatever I can curse at. I want to use all of my memories, my emotions, my challenges - the walls, the hurdles, the road blocks, and all of the nos I have been given, and I want to break through them. I will use Ann as my inspiration - her strength, courage, commitment, and story. Her book will ride along with me.
I recently read an article in the paper about Brian. Brian and his friend are leaving to do the same bike trip as I want to do around the Lake in early July. They will be gone three and a half weeks. They are raising money for ALS. Brian's mother passed away from the disease and his uncle has been recently diagnosed. A quote from their website regarding the ride, "Biking around Lake Superior might sound like a big undertaking but it's not nearly as great of a challenge as people fighting to live another day with ALS!!!" This morning when I was down in my basement lifting weights, during my brief break between sets, I noticed my arm quivering - beat from the intensity of the weight regimen I have been doing to prepare my body for my ride. I watched the muscle for a little while and started noticing how tired and in pain the rest of my body was. I thought about Brian and his outlook on the challenge of this trip and what he is about to put his body through. I started thinking about all of the people in this world that suffer on a daily basis from sickness and disease, violence, hunger, and injustices of all sorts so that I may live a comfortable life. It really put my privilege into perspective. I thought about how the time I am gone on this trip, my life in many ways will suck in terms of the physical toll. I will be uncomfortable, dirty, wet, sore, stiff, cut and bloody, greasy, bug bitten, and I'm sure my bad knee will just fall off at some point. But, at the end of it all, I get to come home to a hot shower, friends and family that love and support me, a comfortable bed, a roof over my head, good food, and access to all of the comforts I need. My struggles and challenges get to be temporary and I get to control how long they last. Somehow that just doesn't seem fair.
I commit to going on this ride for all of those people who never get a break from the challenges, pain and sorrow of life. I ride for Brian and his family. I ride for Ann and her incredible journey. I ride for those who think it's not possible. I ride for those yearning to find a place in this world. I ride for my lost Korean culture and identity. I ride for the many other losses in my life. I ride to grieve my sadness I still hold on to. I ride to embrace and be enveloped by the pristine beauty and raw elements of Lake Superior. I ride to find and claim my place in this world. I ride to find out, at the end of the day, just what it is I am made of. Most of all, I ride for me.
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