Reflections from a New Biker

Reflections from a new biker………….



Hi Team: I felt compelled to write about this experience from a new rider's perspective. ....and thank you for an awesome spin into new hills and valleys. Love, Claire



So what is it that would make someone take vacation time to be with a group of people that she doesn’t know well, biking on a bike just purchased in April, to go to some of the lowest income areas in Connecticut? Really, there is nothing rational about this decision but a response to an invitation, and a spiritual prompting.






The days before the ride were very anxious for me. Could I actually do this? I am not exactly young, I did not have time to train the way one should probably train, I had fallen once and that was not an event I wanted to repeat. Many people were cheering for me including the Office of Catholic Social Justice Ministry, the Nutrition Team at CT Children’s, the folks at St. Elizabeth Seton, my kids and most importantly my husband, Rich. I did not want to let them down, nor did I personally want to fail.






Those who have lived with me know that I am totally dysfunctional in the morning. So, to think that I could get up at 5:00 AM to be at St. Bridget’s by 7:00 AM , to start riding soon after was in itself a grandiose miracle.






Seeing everyone in the green, white and orange shirts made me feel part of the group. We started off, my heart was pounding, not from biking but from profound fear. Those first moments are a bit of a blur…..what gear to be in, can I keep up? was it Pam behind me encouraging me?...watch the glass, the pot holes, the cars…why am I panting so much? Is my heart ok? What is my pulse? Have I used up all my glycogen? Am I totally out of my mind? Frankly, it was all about me and I was having a field day in my head examining my response to the first few miles.






In a while, we passed the SAG(supplies and gear) wagon and they yelled out, we are so proud of you. I wanted to cry and I think I did. I felt the love. But you really can’t cry and ride so I talked myself out of it and kept going. Then the hills began and I felt myself empty of energy, felt my lungs expand beyond what I thought they could and felt the doubt of whether I could do this. Then I saw the sign for Coventry. That is where my parents lived their last years and memories just flooded my mind. Under my breath, I said….mom, dad…can you believe I biked to Coventry? Remember when I told you it was so far to Coventry and why did you live so far from me. I felt sad that I had not visited them more and began to cry again. Biking does not really allow you to stay in a morose state as you need to attend to the next hill.






The flowers are just so beautiful as you bike along. Tiger lilies, flax, Russian sage, orange, blue, purple just whizzing past your vision….sun shining, very hot, now shady, now passing over a stream and a chill is in the air…so refreshing.






When we finally got to Willimantic, the experience changed for me. Just for history purposes for those who don’t know me, I have always been justice minded by serving on boards, serving food at soup kitchens, advising on what programs are needed and how could they be funded and donating. I have always stood safely on the perimeter. But in Willimantic we began to get “up close and personal”. We stood outside the Soup Kitchen and talked to Dave. He said he got some income from canning. I thought he worked at a cannery, canning tomatoes or something like that. Then I learned that someone like Dave cannot get a job and canning means collecting cans. He described how he walks about town, searching for cans on the roadside and in dumpsters. There are good days and bad. He described his weight loss from his constant need to walk just to get a minimal income. He talked about a long walk to a local park as he had heard that there were baseball games there and people probably left lots of cans. He made it to the park but there was no game that day…..a wasted walk. I thought to myself, why wouldn’t he have checked the newspaper and remembered that poor people don’t get the newspaper every day as I do. He described how there are canning territories and if you go to someone else’s territory there can be violence. I began to understand the energy and drive it takes just to get through the day. I think I understand why poor people just give up. When I tired on the bike ride, there was always the sag wagon pulling up and an offer to put my bike on the rack and jump in. There I was engulfed in air conditioning, offering of snacks, lots of encouragement and a ride to the top. I was able to opt out when the going got tough…those in poverty have few advocates and little opportunity to opt out.






When we joined the others at the table in the soup kitchen I listened to their stories. These are people who have encountered bad times due to unexpected circumstances, emotional issues that don’t allow them to recover a baseline existence, illness. We met a gentleman who had worked for the State Dept. of Education for 17 years and now has diagnosed alzhiemer’s disease. Without support, it is impossible to figure out how to lift himself from this poverty existence. I was humbled by all of this and realized how easy it is to judge another person when you really know nothing about them. Beneath the unshaven faces, I saw the dignity and face of Jesus in each of them.






The Willimantic experience changed the bike ride for me. I realized that it was really not about me and my biking expertise, it was about encountering others. Being at the back of the pack, pedaling at what was my absolute max, knowing that the rest of team were probably wishing I could go a lot faster was a poverty experience for me. I was emptied of all that I had and filled it with the love I felt on the team, the generosity that I received from the support team and the hospitality that we received at each stop.






And on the day after the ride, I still feel myself pedaling and feel the motion forward. I do not want to forget this, I want to move forward, I want to help.

Claire