Re-Launch

I wonder if I am a blogger. This afternoon I was spending my requisite (i.e. too much) time surfing other peoples blogs and felt again the pull to blog more regularly. My motivation is to be a better writer. And I realize the only way to improve as a writer is to, rather obviously, write. I could “journal.” That’s a Christian kind of thing to do. It’s also very “artist way” is it not? I suppose there is value in writing pages and pages and pages that no one but I will ever read. But I have always found myself irritatingly narcissistic when I write for my eyes only.

Of course there is no guarantee that anyone will read my blog. Especially if I don’t spread it around that I am writing again. I imagine only those desperately bored souls who return to check a blog eight months dormant will be the lucky few to see my posts. I suppose as a preacher it is simply easier for me to write presuming an audience, however small.

Those are the re-launch paragraphs. Take them for what you will. I do realize my ambivalence might foreshadow the life span of this commitment to the blog-o-sphere. And that the previous sentence shows I need an editor.

For today: Pastor as parent.

I was in clergy coaching group on Tuesday and somehow the conversation turned toward the parental. In the midst of a comment I was making I said, off-handedly, “though I’m not a parent so I don’t exactly know.” I didn’t mean it disparagingly, I was only stating the obvious fact that I was the only non-parent in the room. But in a flash several colleagues were reassuring me that I had plenty of parental knowledge, despite the glaring lack of children. One told me that caring for my dog was the same, instinctually, as caring for a child. He has never met my incredibly low-maintenance pet. Another almost whispered to me, “you’re the momma of the church.”

I looked askance. We moved on.

Over lunch I asked him, “Do you consider yourself the daddy of the church?”

“Most definitely” he said. “It’s a natural part of the way people relate to the pastor.”

“Oh.”

Do I have mothering as a part of my pastoral identity? I’m uncertain. The maker of the comment is a grandfather several times over. He has had “father” as a part of his identity for longer than I have been alive. I realize he is playing into a long Christian tradition to see priest as “father” or even the head of the monastery as “father” or “mother” or “abba/amma” But I can’t think of a single person I “mother” in my church. Or anyone I would want to.

Perhaps the problem is that to me “mothering” implies coddling. I don’t coddle. I would my child, that’s appropriate. I won’t coddle adults. Plus there is a tremendous power differential implied in the parent/child relationship. I want to empower, not parent.

Nope, won’t work. Can’t do it. Woodland, you’re going to have to find another mother. Might I suggest God.

Race re-cap

The 2007 edition of El Tour de Tucson broke a record for attendance, both overall and at the 109 mile event. Over 5000 people (and their bikes) were at the start line. Our 14 person team rode a warm up ride on Friday that was filled with adrenaline and anxiety. It was a tense 14 miles. After Friday's ride I was worried about the mass start on Race day. Turned out my worries were for nothing. Everything on Saturday (for me anyway) was so smooth. Once we started rolling, we just kept rolling for 9 hours and 12 minutes (aprox). Seven hours and 12 minutes of that were wheels moving, an average pace of 15 mph. Two hours were spent total in breaks for food/water/restroom and 4 tire issues for Dale. Poor Dale.





Someone said to me on Friday, "you realize, Amy-Preacher, I don't even know your last name." Didn't bother me. I was happy to be part of the preacher/teacher duo. Amy-teacher was my roommate for the weekend, here we are in the hotel lobby just before walking to the start line. The sunflowers and wheat helped our coaches count team member helmets from behind and allowed us to share our Kansas Spirit with everyone we passed. Out of the 587 TNT riders at El Tour (from 40 different chapters), I can easily say we had a completely unique team ethic, team spirit and team pride. We rode together, stayed together, finished together. Goofy wheat-headed and all.



My other concern, pre-race, besides the mass start, was carrying my bike across the 2 dry river beds. This also turned out to be fine, a little dusty, but not excruciatingly hard. If you count the walking we did through sand, we actually traveled 111 miles on Saturday. That's my baby blue bike in center-front hoisted onto my shoulder.

Though at times, due to hills and traffic, our form broke apart a little, we rode well as a team. Not everyone had the easy day I did, but bodies are different, a few were recovering from illness and one never knows until race day how the body will perform. I am grateful to Travis for excellent coaching and a tough training plan. This is our team at the last turn, yards from the finish line (I'm third from the front on the near side). Just around the corner, we "took the road" and crossed the finish line four across, fists in the air, screaming. It was a rush.

All done! My medal now hangs on my office lampshade. A reminder of a wonderful day, a season of hard work, a great team, money raised toward a worthy cause and a meaningful tribute to my aunt Pat. I am so satisfied. Grateful, of course, for a healthy body, some stubbornness of spirit, and truckloads of support. Life is Good.

And we're back

Landed in Wichita this afternoon.

The Arizona trip was like a dream.

Like time outside of time.

All I could have wanted it to be.

The ride was fantastic. I am not even sure how I will explain it to you.

For tonight, a picture of the team at the finish line.

We rode as a team, finished as a team, accomplished our goal as a team.

What a feeling.

Tank ooo

My mother claims this was my first word.

Whether it was or not, it is what I want to say to all you faithful readers, supporters and contributors.

Thank you.

In the last few days I have been inundated with encouragement and support. And that feels wonderful. My church is super excited (they even gave me a horn and license plate for my bike in worship on Sunday). I have also gotten phone calls and e-mails and...well...lots of love. I love it! And I'm thankful for it.

We fly out tomorrow and I can think of little else.
I'll be unable (or otherwise occupied) to post for a few days, but pictures and story of "the big ride" will come sometime next week.

I trust you'll be reading ;)

Amy

Homestretch

I guess my TNT season is over. There is one more group ride, a 45 miler on Saturday, which I will miss because of a funeral. I will ride alone that afternoon. I will also ride this afternoon and Sunday afternoon and then put my bike on a semi-truck to be delivered in Tucson next week. I am already dreading that moment. Not having the bike in the garage will be a little like not having the dog in the house for the night….something just ain’t right…

Let's take a moment to review. It's been fifteen weeks of riding and over 1500 miles.

My favorite cycling food:
Peanut butter and graham cracker sandwiches. Sweet, crunchy and full of the power needed to pedal on.

Least favorite food:
Berries and Cream Power Bar. Yuck.


Favorite article of cycling clothing:
My headband. I bought it on a whim at REI in Portland (mine’s blue, matches the bike). It keeps sweat out of my face, which is great. But I love it because when I put in on I feel like I am about to walk on the set of a music video for Olivia Newton John. “Let’s get physical, physical…”



Favorite Wichita Area ride:
Thunder Road. Yes it’s fun to say, but also to ride. Great road, great trees, some good hills, little traffic.


Biggest surprise of the season:
The power of the team. I’m kind of an independent girl but I would not want to be doing this alone. (And along with that the power of my personal team to raise $4,000. That’s humbling.)



Scariest moment:
Chin meets pavement. I did wonder if I was going to get up from that crash with all my teeth.

Favorite moment:
This is yet to come, I suspect it will be the finish line. In the last two weeks we’ve practiced a move called “take the road” so we can cross the line four cyclists abreast. I’m smiling just thinking about it.

Biggest gratitude:
The opportunity to recognize as an adult a loss I suffered as a child. The bike riding has been fun but what means more to me is connecting with my family around the death of my aunt in a way I couldn't at five years old.

This is a page out of the guest book at my aunt Pat's funeral. I don't remember that day at all. I vaguely remember being horrified at the funeral home when we went for family viewing to look at her body.


I don't remember much of anything about my aunt at all. I know she loved chocolate chip cookies and breakfast at Denny's. I know she taught school and lived alone. I know she loved me and in my five year old way, I loved her too.

I can see that it was important for me to sign my own name at her funeral. My brother did too but his eight year old handwriting is much better than my kindgergarten script.

So on the 17th I will ride remembering Patricia Jane and her life that ended too soon. I will remember her life that ended in great pain, physical as well as emotional. It was impossible for my grandparents to know how to watch their oldest child die.

I will remember her because even though she is 25 years gone, I know she has a place in our family. She has effected who I am, who my parents are, how I interact with the world. I intend to honor that for at least 109 miles.

still riding

The Big Ride is 11 days away.

Good thing because it is getting a little tricky with church business, cold temperatures and the ever-earlier setting sun to get my rides in.

Today I hit a car.
It didn't hit me, I hit it.

And no, it wasn't parked.
(This is where my mother says, "oh, Amy.")

It pulled out from alongside a concrete wall as I was headed down a sidewalk/bike path. By the time I saw it there was no stopping. I squeezed my brakes, yelled and turned my wheel sideways so that I actually hit the car with my left thigh and slid down the side to the ground.

Laying on the ground, I half expected the car to pull away. But he didn't. He came out to see if I was okay. I was and so was my bike, amazingly. His car? Well...I left a nice dent in the side panel of that little Honda Accord, just below the passenger window. How awful it must have sounded inside.

The high amount of spandex necessitated by the 50 degree temperature prevented the spilling of any blood. I anticipate a car door sized bruise on my thigh by morning.

But really, I'm fine. I rode home. I took a shower. I came back to work.

I'm feeling a bit guilty about hitting him. I don't know if it was my fault or his. Probably a little of both. I do know it's going to cost him to fix the car. But I suppose less than if I had been 2 seconds earlier and he had hit me instead of the other way around.

One of my teammates, Lori, was hit by a car last weekend in Dallas. The car was stopped behind her at a light when the driver took his foot off the brake while reaching for his cell phone. He ran right into the back of her. She has 17 stitches in her ankle. In Car vs Bike, Car usually wins.

On to other news, our Saturday rides have been going well, the long distances have been enjoyable. It's amazing how the day can slip away between tires and pavement. I think I like the simplicity of it. I get up in the morning and the only thing to accomplish in the day is the ride. Two weeks ago I snapped a few photos of the team in action.

Our paceline, I'm the second rider from the front. Usually we are in two lines taking up our own lane of traffic. This was a moment on a busy two lane road so we were single file. Dale is in front. For the record I can beat him anytime I want to. Yes I can, Dale.

Dale and Coach Travis (to the left) sporting his official TNT jersey. I will have earned my own in just a few more days.

Pit stops are crucial to the long rides. Refilling and emptying water. Travis has rarely found a convenience store with more than one woman's toilet. We have 10 women on the team. He needs to work on this.

bicycle chronicles

It’s no wonder I love riding a bicycle. As a toddler I spent hours in a plastic carrier mounted over a parent’s back wheel. Do they even make those any more? Most kids now are towed around in the covered two-wheeled trailers. Though much less safe, I have to think it was better to be inches from my father’s back, to see him and hear him as he pedaled me through the evening.

This is a picture of my first real bicycle, a pink banana-seat Schwinn. It seems funny to me now, I don’t remember learning to ride without training wheels. Was it on this bike? Or was this the reward for gaining balance and confidence? No Lippoldt can say for sure. Soon after the picture, tassels and a bell were added. I had to flutter and ring as I rode.

Chad also had a banana-seat Schwinn, navy blue and silver. We spent hours riding those bikes up and down the street. Hours more following our parents around the neighborhood on summer evenings. And we “fixed” them constantly, turning them over in the driveway or back patio to play bike mechanic. We were fascinated with watching the pedals move the chain move the wheels.

In fourth grade I made a monumental decision. I was allowed (perhaps for the first time) to withdraw money from my precious savings account so I could partially fund the purchase of a 10-speed Schwinn. Red this time. Gears and hand brakes were a revolution.

Weeks later we moved to a new house, new block, new kids. I was too shy to start a conversation but kept riding my bike around the cul-de-sac. Freed from pedal brakes I loved to spin my feet around backwards. It was a sight that stunned the other kids on my street and had them asking me questions. Thanks, bike, for making the introductions.

I took the red Schwinn to college instead of a car. It sat chained up outside McElvaney Hall on the sidewalk right in front of the new Mercedes Benz’ some of my classmates drove. I rode it in Highland Park when I needed freedom from campus. I was never brave enough to risk riding in Dallas traffic for errands.

By the end of my junior year I had motorized transport and the Schwinn had returned to the parents' garage. That summer I worked in Denver and upgraded to a Specialized HardRock Mountain Bike, silver, because it was on sale. Gears on the handle bars now, I changed to any of 24 with the turn of a dial. Unfortunately I didn’t know any real mountain bikers in Denver (how is that possible?) so I stuck to bike paths and streets.

After graduation the Specialized went with me to Minnesota, the city of a million bike paths. I can still picture every mile of the rails-to-trails path that followed the Mississippi River just 6 blocks from my house. It was on that trail that we learned I was built for slow-steady endurance and Rush for quick, intense sprints. To the end of the trail and home, a perfect hour ride.

My first year of seminary in Atlanta the Specialized took me to work and school. Waking at 5am the bike made it easy to arrive at Starbucks for my opening shift, especially since the 7 minute ride from Turner Village was 100% downhill. Going home wasn’t quite as much fun.

In year two and three at Candler the insanely steep hill on Dyson Drive convinced me walking to class was a better idea than riding. I found other places to take the bike, like the fabulous rails-to-trails path on the west side of the city. I wish I had explored Georgia biking more.

Becoming a pastor, in Hutchinson, I began to run. The bike was used less but not completely neglected. Ella and I rode frequently as she started training for her first triathlon. A few crazy days we played tennis, rode the entire length of the Jim Martinez trail and then ran a mile just to see what it felt like. It hurt.

I expected to move in the summer of 2006. I asked to. I was told to stay. For my faithfulness to the vows of itineracy (or non-itineracy) I bought myself a present. The Giant OCR-3, beautiful baby blue. Now gears changed with a flick of the thumb. I obsessed over the extravagance. That was easier than dealing with the anxiety of staying in Hutchinson. But who needs a $700 bike? Turns out I did. Hours of exploring Reno county roads that summer made all the difference.

Six months later, moving to Wichita gave me the chance to train with other cyclists for my first century (100 mile) ride. In preparation I have spent more on accessories than on several of those other bikes. I know the blue Giant is a limited machine. I will upgrade again. I will probably downgrade too, to fewer gears, a slower ride. My love affair with cycling isn’t even at the half-way point. I’d like to ride for 50 more years. I still want to be thrilled and soothed by the sound of the wheels and the wind on my face when I turn 80.


If my story thus far is any indication, I'll always need the bike. Just like I need the dog and I need the friends, and I need the scriptures. It's the rhythm of my life, the way I move through this world.

Burrrrr

My mother once worked with a crazy woman, well actually she has worked with more than one. I was thinking about this particular woman today remembering that she had invented her own fall holiday, "Burrrrrr"

She had a "Burrrrr" tree in her house.

She would by "Burrrrr" gifts.

She would walk around when the air turned cold saying, "Burrrrrr" Isn't it wonderful?


Terri, its time to celebrate.


This morning it was 43 degrees as I rode out of my driveway. Burrrrr!

Luckily I had already purchased my own "burrrr" gifts, arm and leg warmers which arrived last week.

This does mean I am outfitted in polyester and spandex from head to toe, not a dream I ever held for myself. But I do stay warm and that is what really matters.

It also means I look like a real cyclist. No bulky sweatshirts for me. Only real cycling clothing. All of you who know me realize I am no slave to style. The big advantage to the "technical fabrics" is sweat transportation. I can actually sweat in the arm and leg warmers and not be soaked, soppy in my clothing. People used to have to wear wool for such an advantage. Thank goodness for modern chemistry.

The style points were helpful, however, on Saturday as we rode into the middle of a parade. Maize was having its "fall days" (yet another made-up holiday) and we were trying to cut through town as the parade was ending. I really wanted to be a part of the parade. I thought we looked rather good, 12 cyclists decked out in cold weather gear, riding in two tight lines. Of course we were without our official TNT jerseys and we had no candy to throw to the crowd.

We weren't officially a part of the parade but we did follow the very end for a few blocks before it turned. I was in the front of our pack waving happily to the dispersing crowds setting the course for navigating around horse droppings, doing important things like that.

Saturday we rode 75 miles. A new personal best for me. 5 hours in the saddle seems arduous to think about but when I am out with the team, I don't notice the time. Like being engrossed in a great book. Only with more sweat. And spandex.

Tucson is so close I can hardly stand it. Gives me chills to think about toeing up to that starting line. Burrrr!

Strong Finish

Last night I received an e-mail with the last segment of our "training-plan" toward Tucson. Only five more weeks of rides to complete before the big century.

I also realized I need to ask someone to fill in for me on Sunday, Nov 18th. They would probably like a few weeks notice, don't you think?

Because the Sundays I skip are few and far between, and only for the very best of reasons, I missed out on the big team ride this week. Sunday was Octoginta in Lawrence, an 80 mile ride with 800 some cyclists. Amy-teacher was smart enough to take a camera to the ride and has posted a little slide-show on you-tube. View it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jkgQvvBReQs
See how smiley they all are? It must indeed have been a beautiful day.

Travis was nice enough to hold a "warm-up" ride on Saturday of 30 miles, to which I added another 20 solo to make for a decent long day this week. The only other person to show up on Saturday morning was Ed. I guess everyone else was excited about the chance to sleep in. I enjoyed riding around Wichita as a threesome, a different experience than the 12 to 15 we normally have.

During the ride I asked Travis about the rumor I heard that some TNT chapters only work up to a long ride of 60 miles prior to the century event, "do they make it to the end?" I wondered.
"Yea, they make it," he said,"but then they are dead for the rest of the day."
"You'll go rest for two hours and then want to come to the victory party."

So this month is not just about finishing the ride, I already believe I can do that. We rode 66 miles out to Lake Afton and back about two weeks ago. It was crazy windy and much of the team had bonked by mile 55. I was amazed, I could have gone longer. I am now confident I can make the 109 mile distance.

But this month's rides of 75, 80, 85 and 90 miles are about preparing to finish strong. Finishing and not hating every minute of the last 30 miles. Finishing and being ready to celebrate. Finishing and being thankful for the experience.

But before we get there I still need to ride today. And tomorrow. And...

Blown

It is windy in Kansas.

That's the sum total of my reflections for the week.
At least a week and a half of wind more than 20 mph.

Windy makes me whiny.
But I've been riding. Oh, I have been riding.
Squished around every other part of my life. I have been riding.
Bent down into headwinds, I have been riding.
White knuckled steering through crosswinds, I have been riding.
A few brief and glorious wind-pushed moments, I have been riding.

And on that glorious day when it is cool and calm,
I will sail on legs made strong from pushing against the wind.
Yes I will.