Letting Go

Not that I'm counting, but here I am at the top of my second post. I feel stuck, which seems to be a reflection of where I am in my life right now, and I find myself thinking about the different lessons riding a bike has shown me. One of them is just this - I have to let go of the brakes if I want to see what's at the bottom of the hill I just climbed.

I'm not one of those people who likes to go mach 10 with my hair on fire, I much prefer something  more controlled, like the Matterhorn roller coaster in Disneyland. There's still a sense of excitement, but I am "safely" buckled in. Going downhill on my bike felt like I was riding the roller coaster without the buckle or shoulder harness.

My confidence grew with each descent I would make, beginning on the smaller hills that felt so steep and scary and then on to taller and taller mountains, which would mean I had to go back down them to get home. I used my brakes A LOT. (Fun Fact: I have had to change my brake pads many more times than Kevin.) The funny thing is, the more I rode, the more I began to realize that easing up on my brakes made it a little easier to control my bike. It took letting go to find this out.

One of these experiences came at the top of a road called Old La Honda. Kevin and I were riding our bikes to the beach. We had just climbed up the east side of the mountain and were getting ready to descend the west side. It was a foggy morning, so the redwood trees had water dripping from them causing the road to be wet and my apprehension as well. After you cross over Skyline Road to get to the west side of Old La Honda the road drops down very quickly. I had never ridden this part of the road before and all ll I could see was a severe angle in which I was going to have to go down. I froze. I clipped out of my pedal, put my foot on the ground, and said quite unequivocally, "HELL NO!" It was quite a big girl tantrum. I vaguely remember tears and a few other expletives.

Kevin thought I was right behind him when we crossed over to continue on our trek, so he merrily continued on down the road. After a few minutes of standing there he came riding back up to see if I was alright. "No." I quickly told him. I said I couldn't do it. It was too much for me. I wanted to go back the way I had been before. Those roads aren't as steep and I knew them. I would be quite happy sticking with what I knew I could do. This looked like a suicide mission and I wasn't up for the task. 

After a few minutes with Kevin patiently and gently encouraging me that the steep part ended just around the corner, about 100 feet,  I decided I would walk down to "just around" the corner. I wanted to see the beach. I knew I would have regretted not trying. I was learning to push through my fear and believe that I am more capable than I realize.

Kevin was telling the truth, the road did level out and I did make it down the west side of Old La Honda and all the way to the beach. I was glad I continued on. I was glad I didn't let my fear, the unknowing, or lack of confidence keep me from trying. I was glad I didn't just stay on the roads that I knew. It has given me the opportunity to get stronger and more confident on the bike and to see new things I wouldn't have seen otherwise. We have gone to the beach many times since that day, and Old La Honda is the way we like to ride. Since that day I have ridden up and over without clipping out of my pedals. That new road has become an old familiar one to me now.

How about you?  Is there a place you want to see but the road ahead of you looks daunting?