Sunday morning came and I was up with the sun, showered and then went out for a walk along the river to pray a bit and then find a quick breakfast; a McDonald’s #2 breakfast meal. Since I didn’t connect with the L.A. riders I was on my own and decided getting on the road was a good idea. After the big group ride I looked forward to being solo for the day but open for what might come along. I gassed up at the same place I did on my way in to Laughlin at the junction of Highways 163 and 95. I bought myself a new license while I was there and then jotted down a couple of notes on thoughts I had during the last couple of days.
The Lone Shepherd, not a good pick for a handle for me, but something I was feeling like over the weekend and I tried to fit Jesus into that. Not a perfect fit but in many ways he was on his own during his earthly ministry with only that exceptional connection to the Father and the Holy Spirit. None of the disciples were capable of taking leadership responsibilities from him even though they got their feet wet when he sent them out in teams of two. The few times we see the disciples stepping out on their own they became object lessons. It wasn’t until Jesus went to the right hand of the Father and the Holy Spirit had come upon them that they became leaders and established the church.
I think it is good for us to ride with the pack, do things we wouldn’t normally do or wouldn’t even attempt on our own. Of course there is good and bad in that and at the end of the day we are the ones who’ve done them and are responsible for the choices we made along the way; at least that’s what I’ve told my kids and need to own up to for myself. I like the solitude of solo rides, at my pace, over my routes, and the quiet. It is even more profound this morning after my frantic ride with 80 plus bikes yesterday. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll do it again someday.
High winds picked up about 10 a.m. just as I made the transition to Highway 40 and it was chilly, down in the 50s and I eventually pulled over and changed my mesh gloves for the full gauntlets and wish I had pulled on my long-sleeved shirt under my jacket. It stayed windy for two hours until I made it to Barstow for a lunch stop and it was a tense and exhausting ride navigating the cross winds but the desert still held pretty scenes with high clouds giving character to the sky and dappling the desert floor with fantastic spots of shade as they shot across the sky. The big trucks rumbled down the highway like wild fires creating their own windstorms and the 40 was full of them. Eddies they created were tricky coming up behind them and then along side where the under-winds of their trailers wanted to push my wheels out from under me. The only thing I could count on with the trucks was the gale force wind they pushed out front and to the sides and I got skilled pretty quickly at timing my lean into them.
I found the In-and-Out in Barstow and had lunch; this was the busiest one I’ve ever seen with five order takers and a line of “guests” feeding them. I couldn’t count the burger makers and there was at least one fry maker pushing potatoes through the slicer to cut them up busy at all times. Amazing. I ate outside where dozens of House Finches set up a chorus of chirps waiting for any crumb to fall or even not waiting and landing on my table to make tentative hops toward my fries. I never encourage them with junk food; what’s not so good for my large body has to be devastating to their tiny frames. I had enough space to read a chapter of Luke before gathering my stuff and heading for the bike when Kevin and the five or six other bikes from San Gabriel and Santa Clarita pulled in for lunch. I found him and shook hands and finally made an acquaintance. Of course I promptly forgot their names because I’m horrible at names; just ask any youth basketball player. It was always about three games into the season when I finally stopped yelling “Hey You!” to get their attention on the court.
I had intended to take the same route home as I did going out but I missed the connection to the 138 in Victorville and decided to continue on down the 15 to the 210 rather than doubling back. I was more into getting home by then than I was about the route even though the Cajon Pass blows with the downhill pace many drivers keep and their abrupt maneuvers they use to keep that pace. How rude. Once I got through the pass and sped down to the 15/210 interchange I took note that the partly cloudy skies of the desert had became mostly clouding skies in the valleys that looked pretty threatening. Since there had been no prediction of rain I hadn’t packed the rain suit that I didn’t own and I hoped that I wouldn’t have to dodge raindrops to make it to the Dorothy Street. At least if I did get wet it wouldn’t have been for long and I’d be home to dry off. Note to self: buy and bring a rain suit. A decent one doesn’t take up that much room. “Vigilance in all phases of the ride” will be my new motto.
All in all, it was a good experience and I plan to do other rides with groups or to a big rally like the Fall Street Vibrations in Reno. I’ll have a more refined set of expectations and a better idea of how to move about scene for the next one.
No comments:
Post a Comment