hard to write about this one

 

It's hard to write about this one.

That tattoo on my arm has more than one meaning, some of which I won't talk about. One of the meanings I'll talk about freely is about mental health and suicide. A year and a half ago, I drove out to the bridge, parked the car, and walked out to find a place to jump. The semicolon tattoo is for those of us who have been touched by suicide. I don't ever want to get any closer than I did that night. 

Too many men deal with mental health issues (notably depression and anxiety, but also simple grief) and have no place to take them, nobody to talk about them with. Too many men have spoken about their struggles, and found that their partners, their spouses, their families and friends were not safe to talk to; they were shut down or ridiculed. Too many men never spoke about that stuff again. Almost four times as many men "successfully" suicide as women.

I want men to talk about mental health. I'm lucky in that I have people with whom I can.

We lost a nephew earlier this month. I don't know the cause of death. He was 33. His death has got me thinking about death often, and I've been sporadically depressed since, sometimes unable to engage in my usual activities, sometimes unable to get pleasure from usually-pleasurable things. I'm usually disciplined about food and exercise, but I've gained about eight pounds in the past three weeks, after having my weight controlled for years.

Tom H listed a club ride earlier this week. I normally sign up for his right away, but I didn't. I didn't sign up until the night before, and when I got up today, I still wasn't sure I'd actually go.

I think I actually packed up the car and got going, more out of not wanting to have to explain to The Excellent Wife (TEW) why I wasn't rather than out of any real desire to go. But I went.

I'm glad I did. Being with the guys was a tonic. And a discussion with Ricky, straight to the point, was able to get me to reframe some of my misery and focus on some gratitude. It turned out to be a pretty good ride, despite a grey day (and were there some raindrops on the way back?).

When we stopped in Farmingdale, we met a group from the Jersey Shore Touring Society.

It turned out to be a good ride. I'm glad I went. I'm not all better, by any means, but I'm better. And I'm sure Ricky would be embarrassed if I gushed about how grateful I am to him... so we'll leave out the specifics of that.

Do you care about the ride specifics?

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And as a reward for getting this far... isn't this a great picture of Chris C?

august no-pace ride

 

I've been offering no-pace rides for the club on the last Sundays of the month. Our rides are classified by the average pace we expect (although most of them have gotten faster than the advertised pace in the past couple of years)... but some folks don't want to have to maintain a particular pace, or have friends or partners who ride at different paces than they themselves... and some of our number have particular bikes that aren't geared for the rides they like to do, often older, classic bikes, or specialty bikes.

Some examples of these bikes:

Will I ever get tired of bike pics?

Anyway, this ride has gotten popular; I've had it filled with a waiting list the last couple of times. We go out of Village Park in Cranbury on an easy, flat 22-ish mile route. (Go check the ride page.)

These riders have all different abilities, and ride at different paces. I make sure nobody's ignored at the back and nobody rides alone. One rider had to turn back after a knee problem (and made it home fine; I was contacted afterwards); another didn't want to have to work so hard to keep up with the group (I'm fine with that; it's what this ride is for). We still came in faster than I expected we would... but we all got to the stop together.

We stop at the McCaffery's on Southfield, and just as we pulled in, it started to rain. (What? NOBODY was predicting rain today!). About five minutes later, the rain stopped, long before we were even thinking about getting back on the bikes and proceeding.

After the ride, people were hanging around the parking lot and chatting. A usually-reliable source (The Excellent Wife [TEW]) suggested that this was a sign that people had a good time. I'm beginning to think I may need to schedule more of these; we seem to have a certain level of interest.

If you're a club member, you may want to come along. Ride at whatever pace you like. Unless you're rocketing off the front, you won't be alone.

expected and unexpected

 

When Tom H appeared for the ride he'd scheduled out of the Reed Recreation area today, he couldn't have predicted that the trouble he was having with the rear quick-release at his hub was a sign of its imminent demise... but about two miles in, he pulled over to adjust it again, and it came apart in pieces in his hand. He limped back to the car, and gave the lead of the rest of the ride to me.

We COULD HAVE predicted that the bridge at Iron Bridge Road would have been out (I'd gotten a notice from another ride leader about it, and I put it up on the club "closed roads" page), but I hadn't paid enough attention to the route before we started to notice. But it wouldn't have been a Tom H ride without at least one closed road.

We had one rider along who wasn't a regular in Tom's Insane Bike Posse, and she kept up with the pace (better than I did; I "led" from he back), and was at least tolerant of the inside jokes and terrible humor. Laurie had ridden with us a few times years ago, but COVID happened, and she hasn't been out on group rides since. I hope it's not another four years before she can screw up the courage to tolerate us again.

We could NOT have predicted that Tom would have other quick releases in the back of his truck that he carries to clamp in other people's bikes, or that he would cobble together one that would hold his wheel on, or that he would plan a shorter route to meet us at Emery's for the break, and lead us back for the rest of the ride.

We COULD, and indeed SHOULD, have predicted that, on the way back, he'd take us along Hluchy Road, with about a quarter-mile of loose gravel in lieu of paving. Some of us found it challenging or unpleasant.

But none of it was impossible for a Tom H ride.

the tune without the words

 Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

A nephew died last week. The viewing was two days ago; the funeral was yesterday. Initially, I hadn't felt much over the death, but as the family gathered to pay last respects, I found myself mourning Daniel harder.

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I'll bet hundreds of people came out for the viewing. The line went on for hours. There were relatives from Croatia and Ecuador that came; friends from France and Switzerland; coworkers who spoke only Spanish; classmates and workmates; family on top of family. In addition to mourning Daniel, I wept for the meaning of so many people taking time and effort to offer support for the survivors of the young man they knew. There will not be so many at my funeral. Perhaps that is as it should be.

I'd recently been reminded of this Emily Dickinson poem in a video, and thought to myself at the funeral, "Hope is the thing with feathers", and I have not been able to keep long from tears since. It will not always be like this. For now, though, I am not ashamed that I am so moved.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

trying to get back in balance

 

  I've been having some trouble with depression recently. I haven't got a reason for it, but depression is like that: it comes unbidden and without apparent cause, and it stays as long as it chooses, on its own schedule, without providing reasons or checkout dates.

And then, on top of that, we had a tragedy: a nephew, a child of one of my wife's sisters, died suddenly. My wife, and her family, were thunderstruck; my wife has been bereft. I was not close to the nephew in question, but I find that even when I'm not ruminating about mortality, I'm still out-of-sorts, with poor focus and persistence, and I'm anhedonic, not finding pleasure in things I would normally find engaging. I've been poorly disciplined, and eating ALL the junk.

Laura OLPH posted a ride on which it was clear she wanted company (maybe she knew I'd benefit from some bike-y association); she left out the most demanding hills (she's been training for a bike vacation, on which there's a dramatic climb on one of the days; she's been worrying about it for months) and my least-favorite intersections, and when she emailed the Hill Slugs to let us know she was posting it, I was the second or third to sign up. 

I didn't get a lot of pictures today.

There are two starting locations near the Twin Pines park at Pennington, and there was some not-unpleasant confusion about which was the one Laura intended. We got sorted, though, and did a route up to Sergeantsville, on a loop in the other direction from the way she usually goes. I like it better than her usual way, and call it "widdershins", from a Scottish word meaning in the direction contrary to the sun's course; traveling widdershins is unlucky, and calls up witches, or something. I already had enough of that going on, so I wasn't afraid of any more.

But it was a great day, and a good ride, with no blood or mechanical complications, and kinder heat and humidity than we have recently seen. We stopped at the Covered Bridge Cafe, to which I will gladly return when there are rides going that are not hitting every most evil hill in the territory.

Go check out the ride page.

I wish I could say that the ride completely cleared out my head and I'm back to my jovial and prolix self; I'm not. But I'm grateful for the support of friends, and for the opportunity to do something a little difficult and physical to chase the demons for a while.