Rick's Reflections
Day 3
Rick's Reflections
Day 3
I enjoyed waking up in a room with my own bed so much that it actually took longer to get ready for breakfast than if I had slept in a tent. Out my window I could see the sun was just beginning to shine over the east side of the convent casting a partial glow on the west side of the courtyard. It looked like it was going to be a perfect day for a bike ride.
It was. There was a slight breeze and temperatures were in the upper seventies. There were plenty of rolling hills to keep the ride interesting but nothing like Day 2.
Day 2 had its effect on everyone. The riders took it a bit slower on Day 3 and I was no exception. A late start and a long lunch put me into camp a little after 5:00, which was just fine. There was a lot to enjoy for me on Day 3.
The route took us past my boyhood home, my grandfather’s old farm, my birthplace and other places that brought back a flood of memories. We went through Douglas where my grandfather once owned the town saloon. He now rests in the Douglas cemetery where he was given a WWII veteran’s burial and traveled the last mile up the hill in a horse drawn wagon. Two miles later we passed his old farm where I rode my first horse. A half-mile down the road we passed the home I lived in until the second grade. I remembered my dog, Blackie, who got run over by the man who mowed the ditches. I loved that dog. I remember wanting to run over the man with his own tractor. …Kids!
All day long images of my childhood up through high school filled my head. We wore red that day to remember why we ride but for me I also remembered a lot of things I had ridden away from. That side of my family taught me bigotry and prejudice. They were, and still are as far as I know, scared and suspicious of anything they didn’t understand. They taught me how to take pride in “handling my liquor” as well. Now, I’m a recovering alcoholic of 13 years so I guess I learned the lesson well. The best way to “handle my liquor” is to not handle it at all! I don’t talk to them anymore. I’ve found better sources for learning life’s lessons, the best one being St. Joan’s! Day 3 for me was a wonderful reminder of how far I have come and yet another affirmation that I really am exactly where I need to be!
I took time during the day to commit a few “drive by shootings”. That’s what I call riding by another biker with my camera in hand and taking their picture as I pass. I’ve captured some fabulous shots that way. Here are a few.
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When I finally got to camp I ran into Noelle on the way to my gear and asked how her day went. I was a little surprised by the answer. It reminded me of the Chinese folktale about the lost horse. In it an old man, well liked in his village, loses his prized mare. When the villagers lament his loss he simply replies, “Maybe good luck, maybe bad luck.” The horse returns with a magnificent stallion and the villagers rejoice. He offers the same observation. The man’s son breaks his leg in a fall while attempting to ride the stallion and when the villagers offer their condolences he says again, “Maybe good luck, maybe bad luck.” A short time later war breaks out in the region and all able bodied men are pressed into service and most die in battle. The man’s son was spared. …“Maybe good luck, maybe bad luck.”
Noelle’s story started with a similar loss. During a taping someone had moved her bike to the rear of the news truck and the driver, not knowing it was there, backed over it! The bike was mangled. It had been bent in several different directions and was totally unfixable. Fortunately, a woman from Zumbrota who had participated in an AIDS ride a few years ago, loaned her bike to Noelle. Unfortunately, the bike was 4 inches too large and needed more than a little tweaking. Fortunately, the bike techs from Erik’s Bike Shop were able to make it roadworthy. Unfortunately, it had a flat tire halfway through the ride. She had to be swept into camp to make the 5:00pm newscast. Fortunately, Erik’s Bike said they would loan her a bike that fit for the next day’s ride.
For Noelle the story ends on the upturn. She finished the ride without another mishap.
The evening wrapped up with a great dinner, a nice program recognizing the crew and staff of the ride, and a very fun “Prom”. Shooting pictures of the happy, dancing people was a great way to cap off a beautiful day. Well…that and I did sign up for next years ride on my way back to the tent. I was now officially rider #13 for the 2004 Minnesota Red Ribbon Ride.
A nearly full moon hung over the camp as I made my way back to the tent. I thought about the people I shared the ride with and their faces in the pictures I took. I felt at home. I was home…right where I needed to be.
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