TheBanyanTree: Oh to be Old and Still Go Really, Really Fast

[A. Christopher Hammon]

It started when I was young. In my pre-teens as a Boy Scout, I remember 
selling Christmas cards as a troop fundraiser and getting to choose a 
prize from a catalog for my success. I chose a speedometer for my 
bicycle. I knew it was just what I needed to confirm my record breaking 
speeds around the neighborhood. But it really started before that; even 
before my first three wheeler---a direct drive trike with a 12" front 
wheel. It started with a stroller that served to contain me when 
attached to an adult but converted into a freewheeling walker when not 
attached to an adult.

As a child, my mother would wheel me uptown to my grandparents 
department store in the small town in which we lived. Once there, she 
would detach the handle and my stroller became a walker leaving me free 
to wander about the store. As a child I had two speeds, stopped and 
fast. It just never made sense to walk when I could run. My favorite 
thing to do was line up on the long aisle leading to the check out 
counter, run as fast I could in the walker, and slam into the counter. 
Any customer that didn't move was fair game. Happiness was going fast.

When my prize speedometer finally arrived in the mail, I quickly 
installed it on my bike, a 26" Schwinn Roadmaster modified with a high 
bar banana seat and butterfly handlebars (a Stingray bike on steroids).  
I could hardly wait to get it on the road so I could watch the 
speedometer needle quickly exceed its maximum speed of 40 mph. I knew 
that would happen with two blocks. If we had lived on a very steep hill 
or on the side of one of the nearby mountains, that might have happened. 
But not on the flat streets of our village. Pedaling as hard as my 
twelve-year-old legs would go, I topped out at 15 mph. Oh well. Fast is 
relative and as a kid it was fun just to go as fast as I could.

During the next decade the quality and capabilities of my bicycles 
improved dramatically. By the time I was twenty-one, I was both racing 
and touring with my bike. I was riding a relatively nice racing bike and 
thought nothing of pedaling 125 mile days. I was an in-shape young 
sailor. Just outside of the town where I was stationed there was a small 
mountain that we would use for training rides. It took some effort to 
get to the top but we were motivated by the ride down the other side. It 
was about 3 ½ miles to the bottom and if we stayed off the brakes, we 
could be there in under four minutes. You can do the math but it would 
have busted the speedometer on my old Schwinn. Oh to be young and go 
really, really fast.

Over the years I have done a numbers of things faster; including some 
very fast cars and piloting small airplanes, but there is still 
something about going fast downhill on the skinny tires of bicycle that 
remain the most thrilling for me. Fast is relative. I got to thinking 
about this again the other day as I maneuvered my current bicycle 
through a tight 140 degree downhill turn and felt that thrill of the 
edges of the tires just hanging on against the centrifugal force. Oh 
yeah, the thrill is still there. And the recumbent I ride these days 
goes downhill very fast.

It made me think of a fall day a couple of years ago. I was into my 
seventh decade of life and riding a week-long bicycle tour in central 
Indiana as a way to celebrate recovering from a major abdominal surgery 
and chemotherapy for cancer. I was both surprised and relieved when I 
reviewed the day's route sheets and noticed that we were not taking the 
road over Bear Wallow. I wasn't sure I was up to getting over that one. 
I was eight months to the day post-op from my surgery, but as we stopped 
for lunch I was feeling like I just might be able to do that hill. What 
a way to celebrate. As we approached the turn off for Bear Wallow Road, 
I talked the friend I was riding with into going off route with me to go 
over the big hill. I knew this road and I've had some fun flying down 
the other side into Nashville during previous years. Up we went. It took 
a lot of effort but I made it. And then I grinned, time for the downhill 
run. I let it go. Oh to be old and go really, really fast. Then I 
discovered why this road had not been included in that year's route. As 
I got to the lower half already exceeding the take-off speed of some 
light aircraft, I discovered that the road was in terrible shape. Before 
I could get the brakes applied, I hit a hole that sent me and my bike 
airborne. Oh great, I thought, I've survived the mother of all surgeries 
and chemo just to kill myself on a high speed downhill.  Seems 
appropriate. I landed the bike still upright and got the speed back down 
into the mid-forties and finally pulled off at a point where I could 
wait for my obviously wiser friend to catch up. But oh to be old and go 
really, really fast.

Cheers,
Chris


Untitled Document

/_________________________________________
A. Christopher Hammon, D.Min.
Executive Director //
Wayne Oates Institute
A Learning Community for Spiritual Care
http://www.oates.org
https://www.facebook.com/weoichris/

/Affiliate Faculty, Doctor of Ministry Program
Drew University Theological School/