Making The Loop

(In a sincere effort to write something a bit less plain and blunt, I am going to choose a topic that needs a lot of imagination and recall to describe to the reader. Since I need my writing to be about real life experiences, I have chosen my summer bike rides which I miss very much. Here goes.)

As I step outside into the new morning, the indulgence that awaits me is savored. Indulgence?? A six mile bike ride? Yes, a word deliberately chosen . As the mother of a busy household with a full day ahead of me, the solitude that my time alone affords and the inspiration assimilated from the glories of creation are by far the greatest and most effective indulgence I can think of.  A must if I am to have a ‘good‘  day.I approach the dilapidated shed where the bikes are kept. Mine is always at the front and over to the right side for easy access, free from the tangle of children’s cycles, lawn mower, garden tools and various other items that just cannot seem to keep their place in this small confinement. After a quick check of the air pressure in the tires, I quickly hop on the seat and roll down the drive. This may be perhaps the most enjoyable part of the entire circuit as I relish the fact that I have made my escape before any last minute voices come calling from the back door keeping me from my appointed course or slowing me down and wreaking havoc on my scheduled routine. The very first part of the journey begins as I lift my head and look eastward over my left shoulder and watch the house go by me, still wary that a child may run out onto the front porch and call to me with a hinderance to my morning freedom.Sometimes, on  rare occasions, one of the younger girls will simply wave goodbye with a happy gesture as they go about their early morning play.

Feeling the wind in my hair and knowing I am now on my way, I scan the horizon before me and my mind begins to drink in all the sights and sounds of the summer morning. I look for the familiar landmarks along the way; certain trees that I have admired and wondered about, a particular fence post,  the neighbor’s scurrying chickens as they run under the bushes when I approach their domain. All the things that make my road feel like home to me, the most comforting place I know. The gentle curves and easy hills at the start of my trek are just right to prepare my lungs and legs for the more challenging areas ahead. Some times a bit of dread ensues  at the thought of the steepest slopes that I have to climb but I quickly push it away knowing I am doing what is good for my body. The first of the steepest climbs is before me and I struggle to catch my breath as I slowly reach the top. I am always hoping  the two dogs that live on the farm I approach are busy helping their master as he feeds the horses way out in the back fields. They love to chase me and on the mornings that they see me coming, I quickly call out to them, “Good puppies! Good puppies!” Their vicious barks continue as if to say, “You’re not fooling us!” They chase me all the way to the end of their property and stop right where it ends as if an invisible force has kept them from taking another step. The exhilaration I feel as I look back over my shoulder is kin to victory and triumph knowing the hardest part is over and now I get to relax. Down hill I coast and the scene before me opens to huge rolling pastures with stock  grazing on both sides of the road, keeping their bounds by the simple, one strand electric fence. The tall Johnson grasses sway in the breeze with the sounds of small birds and various critters fluttering and scurrying within its huge patches. Beautiful purple thistle flowers dot the hillside and give color contrast to the rich green hay fields. I apply the brakes evenly and firmly as I prepare to make my turn on to Highway 433, northwest towards Willisburg.

A winding country road, for the next 4 miles I am in the ‘bottom’ as we call it, and the ride from here is easy and peaceful until I hit the biggest hill at the end that brings me back up to the top of White Hall Road. I cannot help but give my thanks and praises to God as I revel in all the beauty of the woods to my left and the rising hay fields on the right. I enjoy passing the  farm houses, the old barns, the horses that stand to greet me at their morning stations. Sometimes they won’t see me coming and I startle them. They break into a run and I smile when I see their unique dance as they run away from the edge of their boundary.

 There are some sad sights on this part of the loop I am making. Four young men have lost their lives on this road and each one has a memorial to mark the spot where he left this earth. Ironically, they are spaced out quite evenly along the way as if to remind me of the possibilities of what can happen in this life. As soon as I leave my pondering about the first boy (Lance died in 2000), no sooner do I think of other matters and the next marker is before me. (Aaron died in 2008). I pray for his mother. I wonder about her grief, her pain, the loss of a son. Just before I begin the upward climb on the last hill, the Hardin farm is on my left and Grace is out walking her dog. We exchange a friendly greeting and to the immediate right, the marker for another young man. (Rodney ‘Red’ died in 2003). I wonder about the danger of the road, the lack of wisdom the boys may have exercised, so many things I don’t know. But it does not matter how they died. I have a son their age. I put myself in the shoes of these mothers in my mind. I imagine the part of the shocked and grieving parent and tears literally come to my eyes. As I begin the agonizing upward struggle to the top of the last hill, there is no more energy wasted in emotional thoughts dwelling on the loss of  life. I need all my strength not only to get up that hill but to remember that this is the spot where the boy named  Aarron Merrimen died in 2001. It is on a sharp curve with little visibility in either direction, I must be very cautious. By the time I reach the top, my lungs are burning and I take my hand on my thigh pushing down hard on my leg to encourage it to keep going. Almost there. The street sign looms in the near distance, WhiteHall Road. A sharp right turn puts me on level ground and the victory is mine. One more mile to home and it is all easy and down hill from here. The view of the silos at the Hale Farm are a welcome sight as I complete the circle. By now the sun is climbing higher and the warm humid air reminds me that it promises to be another hot summer day. I think of the day ahead and the things I want to accomplish in the garden, but first, as I turn up the drive, a sight to behold. Here comes Gracie with a glass of cool water and she greets me with a sweet, “Hi Mommy!!” Can’t wait for those summer bike rides to begin again.