A Mountainous Heart in Memphis

Nearly four years ago I loaded all of my belongings onto a moving truck and set due west, Memphis bound. I was anxious, perhaps frightened. I was leaving a lot behind. Three and a half hours is not far from home but it’s more than I’m accustomed to. (I stress the half part because the last thirty minutes of the drive tends to be a bit taxing.) I was aware there would be some adjustments, but I did not know exactly what I was in for.

I am from middle Tennessee, not to be mistaken with East Tennessee where you find plateaus and mountains, but a place where many “rolling” hills exist. I invested most of my childhood on a farm surrounded by farmland, wilderness, and wildlife. I grew up in a small town, as a country boy. Actually, I was quite reluctant to find an interest in cycling and running. Very few people in my hometown subscribed to such activities. After I discovered a love for endurance sports I quickly found out that I had been blessed in a training mecca, a region populated with hills, trails, state parks, and vast wilderness. “Why have I not been doing this all my life?” I thought. That is a different story for a different time. Nevertheless, there was plenty of rich training ground, waiting to challenge any stimulated athlete.

After hearing a call to ministry and knowing for certain that Memphis Theological Seminary was in the cards, I knew the move was inevitable. I even tried to deny it. I thought about commuting like many students do. I could stay in Memphis two days a week, take classes, and voyage back home. I certainly could have done that. Many students take that route. But, you see, a call from God is not like a call from an old friend. You can argue with your friend. When God has a plan, God will let you know. God did not speak to me in an audible voice. I would not have heard that. God spoke to me in a way that I could hear. Nothing else worked. God made me stumble, fall, trip up, hurt, struggle, until I just fell into the place God wanted me. Thanks be to God.

I arrived in Memphis in mid August with a loaded moving truck. My mom, dad, brother-in-law, and best friend came along to help me unload. After my belongings were moved in, scattered around my small duplex, they departed and there I was, alone with my dog. I was in a new place and a new part of my life had begun. If I said I was not frightened I would be lying. I needed an immediate fix. A trip to Kroger and a large grocery bill will always make me feel right. Besides, there was not a drop of beer in the house. My favorite IPA would do the trick. The trip to the store was disastrous for one reason. It seems that microbrews in Atlanta don’t stretch their arms as far as the Mississippi. I came very close to calling Sweetwater Brewing Company and giving them a piece of my mind. How dare they not ship my favorite beer to Memphis! I went home with my groceries and a six-pack of whatever.

After working up the nerve to ride my bike around mid-town I went on a journey looking for some back roads and elevation. After riding an hour, I found some rough, tar-gravel roads that reminded me of home. Elevation? That’s hilarious. I am in the flat lands. What’s to expect? There are some small hills and I have discovered that enough repeats will serve the purpose. But, the days of leaving the house for a two-hour ride to do nothing but clamber over your two favorite passes was over.

Another element I discovered about this foreign place was the thick air. On a mid summer day it is quite hard to breathe in Memphis. The humidity is visual. I get up most mornings at 6:00 AM to walk the dog. When I am finished, I have to change my shirt and underwear because I am perspiring so much.

Recently, I took a short, weekend, trip to Mountain View, Arkansas. It is a small town located near the Ozarks and it is loaded with hiking and mountain bike trails. I soaked it up. I smothered myself with mountain air and deep wooded trails. The landscapes were amazing and beautiful. It reminded me of trips to Pisgah forest, on the boarder of East Tennessee and North Carolina. It reminded me of home. The three-day experience was challenging, rich, and fulfilling. But, you see, that is the thing, it was fulfilling. My cup was filled; I was sated. On the third day, I was ready to come back home.

Since living in Memphis a while I have been introduced to its true character. I think many people look over the character, the soul, and the heart of this town. I sometimes wake up in the morning before the sun makes its move and head out for a bike ride. It is possibly one of the best rides I can fit into my routine. As I start the ride, the town is slowly waking up. At 6:00 AM midtown and downtown are relatively quiet. As I ride down Peabody I see people walking out on their porch with a hot cup of coffee and the morning paper. Some people wave, some are still rubbing their eyes. As I get closer to the river I see many of my brothers and sisters on the streets conversing and sharing a cigarette. When I make my way over to Front Street the sun has made its first appearance and it creeps over the river. When the first ray hits my face I can feel the warmth; it feels like a greeting from God. The smell of barbecue clouds over downtown as the restaurants prepare for the day. I am not much of a meat eater but it still makes me salivate a bit. I push myself across the bridge to Mud Island and for a couple of miles I ride beside the Miss, one of the greatest rivers in the world. She makes a noise. It is not a roar like a river would make. It is a song with a rhythm. It is as if she has been listening to Memphis blues so long, she has learned to play. As I turn my direction back east, toward midtown, I pass the old Cross Town building and wonder what God has planned for it. I roll pass the Memphis Zoo and catch a whiff of what smells like home, but I’m sure it’s not the neighbors dairy cattle. By that time the traffic is out and stirring. I meander through some neighborhoods that lead back to my home. My ride is complete.

Memphis does not offer Mountains or Hills to ascend, or epic, point-to-point single track. It does, however, have character unlike anything I have ever experienced. I have not been around the world or have experienced much outside of our little state. But, I know this town has something genuine about it that, I believe no other place has. It is unique; it has character, it has soul.

Not Enough Time to Train

Not enough time to train,

Retired pro cyclist and endurance coach, Chris Carmichael published a book a few years ago titled, The Time Crunched Cyclist. The titled grabbed my attention immediately. From that alone I knew I needed to pick it up. That sounds like me, crunched for time. I’ll be quite honest with you I never picked it up. It’s on a long list of things to read right above Fifty Shades of Grey. Don’t get me wrong Carmichael is a genius. Even if he were a moron he managed to get a Ph.D. in cycling. No shit, a Ph.D. in cycling. Nevertheless, I did manage to thumb through the book a couple of times while sitting in the floor in Borders Books. I have also read some articles written by Carmichael, promoting the book. Basically what he’s saying is I have no excuse. I can say things like, “not enough volume to do any races right now” or “I just haven’t been putting in the time” but the truth is I don’t necessarily need it.

Last year I experimented with this idea. I dedicated my commuting around town to the bike. I started riding to work, the store, the bar, and anywhere else within 10-15 miles of my home. Not only did I ride, I raced myself. As I have said before, my ride to and from work is much like a daily adventure. Essentially, every time I ride somewhere I try to make it an adventure, or a race. I have a PR for my ride to the gym, work, and the grocery. It seems like every morning when I walk out of my front door, bike in hand, I say to myself, “I’m just going to ride slow and easy.” That never happens for two reasons. 1) I’m usually running late. 2) I can’t help it. It seems like there is this imaginary asshole that passes me about 5 minutes in and looks me in the eyes and says, “Get some you big poon!” The funny thing is he looks just like me. The heart rate skyrockets after that and I can feel every hair in my head. I go from Jekyll to Hide real fast and the Doc doesn’t come back until I land at my rendezvous and dismount my ride. It’s a good thing there is a shower at my work place because I’m a mess when I walk in that back door. Anyway, back to the training idea, I occasionally put in some base miles but nothing over 2.5 hours. When I signed up for the Slobberknocker 70 Mountain Bike Marathon in Arkansas I had no idea what to expect. In summary, I did ok. I was able to suffer a little and I was satisfied with the results.

What I’m saying is this: If you don’t have much time to train, you don’t necessarily need it. Go out for shorter rides and make hurt a little more. If you don’t like to hurt, well I hear golf is fun.

Peace  

Be Kind and Respond.

I love riding my bike to work. Commuting by two wheels has become a large part of my life. It provides a short adventure to the beginning and end of my day. It seems that when I ride to work, all rolls a little more fluid.

When I woke yesterday morning I noticed a little overcast but the temp gauge was reading warmer than usual. I felt a pleasant commute to work on tap. I packed a change of clothes and hit the Midtown streets: Avery Ave to Hollywood, Hollywood to Central. I clicked a gear and pretended like I was running late. Within the past few months we received a bike lane on Central Avenue. This made my work commute a bit safer. While commuting down the Central lane I saw an oncoming cyclist. He was a male, riding what seemed to be fixed gear by the way he was pedaling, his hands were off of the handlebar and in his pocket, and he was wearing headphones. As I got closer it was apparent he was staring at me. I slowed my pedaling, raised up and extended my fellow cycling brother a wave and greeting. He was stoic. His eyes were fixed on me with a cold gaze. I pedaled on, disappointed that I did not get a response.

A friend of mine who is a very accomplished ultra marathoner, once made a shirt that proclaimed, "If I had a nickle for every time someone said hello to me on the trail, I would have a nickle." Runners, cyclists, don't we all have something specific in common? Aren't we part of a group of people, a community? I think so. We are all trying to do something better for the environment, our neighbor, ourselves, or all of the above. We belong to a community together. Is a greeting not in order? There is no cool-aid to drink or a special handshake, just a wave or hello. Have you noticed jeep drivers? They all wave at each other. I drove a jeep for several years and I was always impressed how the jeep driving community shared a wave to their like driving friend. I once asked a jeep driver why this was and he told me, "It's a Jeep thing". Can it not be a "runner/cyclist thing" or a "community of health thing". On my bike, when I meet someone at a traffic light or coming in the opposite direction, occasionally the cyclist acts as if they want to start a pissing contest. Most of the time they do not respond at all. Heaven forbid they get passed going the same direction. There have been moments in that context that I have been cursed at!

If nothing else, I'm proud of what cyclists have done to cycling communities. It is because of our cycling, lanes have appeared. Keep riding! If you ride it, they will come. A reliable source tells me there will be nearly one hundred more miles of bike lanes built in the Memphis area within the year. It seems to me that we have done this together. That deserves a greeting, at least.

Encounters

A few years ago I received a friend request on a social networking site by a gentleman I had never met. Ninety percent of the time, if I don't know the name, I don't accept the request. Sometimes, if I do know the name, I don't accept the request. At any rate, I looked at the gentleman's photo and he appeared to be on a bicycle so I thought, "Sure, a fellow cyclist". Over some time I learned a bit about this dude. I won't use his name but we'll refer to him as "EG" for the story. He started cycling a few years ago to contend against some severe health issues in addition to some emotional affairs. He constantly battles with his weight. He is not your stereotypical cyclist. However, with the help of some experienced cyclists in the area, he has been participating in a number of races and events. He is overcoming many health and emotional contentions by riding his bike. He has become a local hero in his community. Civic radio and television stations have conducted interviews with him. He has become an inspiration for many. He doesn't win races. He is usually the rearmost finisher. But that is not why he participates. He races against himself, not the other people. He fights against the critics and neigh sayers; they are his competitors. I reiterate, he is a true inspiration.

Recently EG posted a message that another cyclist sent him.

Please stop cycling. It’s great what you’re doing but get out of cycling. I’m a former road cyclist and cyclo cross racer, and don’t miss it. When you’re in the sport, you don’t see how other people outside hate it. Road cyclists, Mountain bikers, track cyclists and CX racers are all perceived as arrogant, elitist, self-righteous, and acting as if they’re above the everyone. They think they are very open but only open to who they want to accept. Have you seen these guys at the Velodrome tracks? Many are full of steroids and are so stuck up and mean its lucky the sport is not banned everywhere. I like your idea of trying out track and field. It’s a much more respectable sport and you won’t cut off drivers which will help keep traffic accidents and issues down. 

I don't quite understand the point the author of this message is trying to say to EG or what he is trying to say to other cyclist. Yes, it's true, many competitive riders are assholes. They lose focus of the sport while trying to come out on top. As we have recently learned by means of every major news channel in the country, bike racers cheat. (we won't go there today). These people give the sport a bad name. There have been many times that I have considered throwing in the towel and hanging up the race bike for good. Though, if I come to that conclusion there will be a void that I will be unable to fill. Every time I watch a race from the sidelines I get an insatiable itch. I can't deny it, I am just programed to compete. What I can do, though, is to stand out form the crowd of "assholes" and open the door for people who are interested in the sport. I am much more impressed with the new racer trying out an event for the first time than the seasoned elite, dominating the circuit. 

As for EG, I can only pray that he keeps pedaling and leaves the critics in his dust. I can remember some time ago making the decision to lose some weight. Ten years, 70 pounds, and a lot of chamois cream later, here I am making out this year's race schedule. 

Peace