Up the creek without a pedal...

Last weekend, dad and I made history...we participated in (and freakin finished!!!) the 25th Annual "Up the Creek Without a Pedal" ride in Rome, GA.

For me, this was not only my first organized cycling event, it was also the first time I've ever ridden a bike with more than 3 other people!  We got to Rome with about 25 minutes to prep before the ride, pumped up our tires (btw--why do I need to pump my tires EVERY time I ride? I don't recall having to do that on my mountain bike...), got our swag, and joined the masses.  We're talking hundreds of cyclists, everything from imitation Under Armour-wearing noobs like me all the way to Lance Armstrong wannabes wearing more latex themselves than a whole Richard Simmons Sweatin' to the Oldies cast combined.  They call it "performance wear".

The ride starts in downtown Rome.  We had a police escort for the first three miles, which was pretty cool.  Always better to be chasing the police than the other way around.  Dad and I were in the back, probably 3/4 of the way back.  We set a nice pace and just kept going.

The event provided a 30, 53, 75, and 100 mile option.  We simply couldn't spoil things by going for the century just yet, and 75 miles of hills just kind of seemed a little too intense, and 30 miles was too whimpy (no disrespect to anyone reading this who chose the 30 mile ride), so 53 it was.  53 gorgeous miles, made even more glorious by awesome sag stops -- PB&J, beef jerky, bananas, and the final stop had...wait for it...homemade strawberry ice cream.  It makes it so much easier to ride when you know there's some tasty calories and refreshingly cold beverages waiting for you just a few more miles down the road.

Now, dad and I aren't very speedy...we generally average 10 mph.  While this was our best long-distance average at 12.4 mph, we still got passed by all those Euro-Pro "Performance" guys (and a few ladies).  There was one guy in a Cookie Monster jersey who, though he took really long breaks enjoying the goodies at the sag stops, always seemed to catch up to us and let us know he was passing...again.  It became a source of motivation for me, to stay ahead of Cookie Monster for as long as we could.  I'm fairly certain he passed one final time about 2 miles out, but we made it all the way, up some gruelling hills of "the Pocket" (a nestled valley that follows Johns Creek (not the Alpharetta one, a different one), hence the name of the ride, and across the finish line back in downtown Rome. Out there, there were stunning views and powerful perfumes of honeysuckles.  It's not quite my vision of Heaven, but it's pretty close.  I don't think there will be bike seats in Heaven.

Last week, my heart was heavy over the loss of that man who passed after complications from his bone marrow transplant.  This time, as we cruised past the Richard B. Russell municipal airport and an ultralight came in for a landing right on top of us, my heart went out to the families who lost their loved ones in that tragic plane crash on Atlanta's I-285 the day before.  As it turned out, one of the victims and I are connected: the young woman who died is the sister of a man whose wedding I celebrated a few years back.  Again, the theme of cherishing each moment with those around us became abundantly clear to me.  We will all experience the loss of loved ones.  Sometimes it will be foreseen and expected.  Other times it will be sudden and tragic.  It wont always seem fair and it often doesn't make sense.  We will question why God allowed this to happen, and we probably won't get any answers.  All we have is the reality of the loss.  That, and the Lord's promise that He will be with us always, and that He is victor over sin and death.

God doesn't promise that those who love Him will be free of sorrow.  The Cross has always lead me to believe that Christians will necessarily suffer more than those around us, because we have been called to love.  Love hurts.  When you pour yourself out for someone, and then that someone is suddenly gone, it truly is like part of your own existence is gone, like part of you dies with them.  When the beloved hurts, the lover hurts.  Loving guarantees that we will suffer.

But herein lies the "mystery of faith," that Jesus Christ, eternal Son of the Father, entered into death for us, that He took on our death, that God himself went to the lengths of God-forsakenness for us, to show that He is with us, close to us and not far from us, in suffering.  It may not take away the sting, the ache, the deep and never-ending sense of loss we feel when someone we love dies, but, at the very least, hopefully helps us to see we're not up the creek without a paddle, hopelessly being dragged down stream; rather, we're in a boat captained by the Savior, who leads us through the storm.