It’s strangely quiet in the Merriman valley as I pass the 10-mile mark in my ride. I’ve not been passed by motorcyclists or cars for a couple of miles. Other than the steady whirr of my wheels on the road, I can hear a woodpecker getting busy off to my right as a couple of bullfrogs exchange greetings; on my left the lazy Cuyahoga river winds its way to Cleveland and Lake Erie; rows of sweet corn have surpassed the “knee-high by the 4th of July” mark and are already topped with tassels. The threat of a late afternoon thunderstorm has dissipated and sunlight is now accentuating the landscape with glittering and shimmering highlights.
As the terrain is relatively flat in the valley, I am sailing along at a crisp 21-mph giving the pedals and myself a vigorous workout. The top tube of my trusty old Schwinn is corroded from years of random beads of sweat falling from my perspiring brow and finding their path to the ground blocked by this metal bar. Although the temperature is moderate and the air in the valley is cool, the high relative humidity means perspiration is falling like raindrops from my helmet—I’m a one man weather system.
15.75 miles in and I’ve reached the beginning of a long climb out of the valley. This will mark the third time I’ve climbed this particular hill in the past six weeks. In years past, I’ve studiously avoided taking this route lest I be forced off the bike to walk in self-imposed ignominy up the incline. The climb is still a challenge, but it’s not insurmountable. I begin to think of longer, steeper hills in the vicinity; new routes to take, new hills to climb and conquer.
Some of the challenging hills we climb in life are unavoidable if we seek to reach a goal. I have a close friend who spends an enormous amount of mental energy constructing giant, metaphorical hills as a way of abnegating his expressed goals/desires. I know of whence he comes; I’ve looked upon hills of my own making and believed I did not have the intestinal fortitude to make the climb and reach the top. Sometimes, recognizing the obstacles we encounter along the paths of our lives are of our own making is an uncomfortable and unpleasant truth. But without such recognition, our goals may forever remain out of reach because we refuse to believe we are capable of making the climb or because we imagine the climb to be beyond our capability.
I’ve turned the corner on to my street, my ride is almost complete. I’m feeling tired and spent, but I summon the strength to pedal as hard as I can for the last ½ mile. Turning into the driveway, I spy the wagging tail of a dog signaling happiness at my arrival.
Life is good.