Solo Woman Cyclist: Aren’t you afraid?
Well, who isn’t?
I wake up every day afraid. Afraid
I won’t be able to cope, face the unknown, to step outside the house. And for
good reason—
Maybe I’m simply a fearful person,
but to me every day is fraught. The possibilities for failure are endless. Is this
pessimism? Depression? Or an acute awareness, knife-sharpened by my childhood?
The sense that one must be hyper-vigilant because no one else has their best
interests at heart.
I’m even afraid to write
this.
Writing is fear, to face the
blank page, to pull words out of the invisible universe and conjure up a notion
residing inside my head. To evoke a scene playing out in my imagination. To
physically emote onto the page. And, this is scarier yet, with the hope of communicating,
connecting with others. To instill in a reader the same emotions I’m feeling.
That is an achievement usually unrecognized and definitely under-appreciated.
In other words: Art.
So, yeah, I’m afraid and face
my fears daily, on a moment to moment basis. Cycling alone is scary, but it's also empowering.
Let’s also acknowledge we
never have control. So when people say to me, Do you ever think about what can
go wrong? I simply nod my head.
--What about crashing? Yup.
--Cars running you over? Got it!
--Rapists? I’ve never once
forgotten this is a reality, always has been.
--A breakdown?
As a writer, a creative, I
can imagine all of this in great detail. That crash—it’s run through the movie
screen of my head over and over, careening downhill and hitting a fist-sized
rock and then skidding into oncoming traffic. It’s one of the reasons I wear a
helmet because I envision my brains splayed out on the pavement every time I
pull out onto the street. About the rapists—I consider myself lucky. The number
of women who can’t walk down the street without comment or being objectified is
crazy. Something men don’t have to worry about.
Yet, astride my bike, pedaling
along I feel not only safe but a sense of power. I’m doing it! Things will
happen, but I can tackle the problems one-by-one.
For example on my last trip I
got a flat, a thumbtack stuck in my rear tire. There’s nothing I hate more
than changing a tire. That’s why I’ll constantly keep pumping a slow leak until
I can make it to a shop. I was on a back road when I heard and phish and felt
my rear pull to the side. I found a safe place to pull off, tossed off my bags,
and turned the bike over. The hardest part of a flat is after I’ve installed
the new tube and not pinching it, thereby creating another flat. Getting the
tire to stretch over the last bit of rim just by pushing with my fingers:
impossible. So I went out to the road and hailed a passerby. He got out and did
the maneuvering and then had a regular pump in the back of his SUV. He helped
me quickly inflate and was off. Thanks!
A few days later I threw a
spoke on the rear wheel. At first I thought, oh no another flat, but then saw
that wasn’t it. My brakes grabbed weirdly and things felt squishy. I figured
it out and then pulled out my phone to see where the nearest bike shop was. I
had to cycle 7 miles to Blue Hill where a nice lady gave me a ride the rest of
the way to Kingdom Bikes (located out in the boonies on a gravel road). Each of
these times I worked the problem.
Yes, I’m afraid, mostly
though I worry. I’m so vulnerable. But isn’t that the human condition.
One more thing to take into
consideration: I live in Chicago. If I can survive the streets of Chicago then
a bike tour should be a piece of cake. Just this week in my neighborhood, on my
street, just a few blocks away 4 people shot in front of a jerk chicken place
and then a few hours later a body discovered in one of those bins where
you drop off clothes. How??? Then set on fire.
So riding is a stress
release, a way of escape. After a hard week of Trump news, neighborhood crime, allegations
of sexual harassment, it’s nice to get away and get my life back. A long ride
is exactly what I need.
Comments