Let’s face it, relationships are where we learn the MOST about ourselves. My mother shared a four word phrase with me at a young age. ‘You might be right,’ has served me for decades.
Having completed my 362 mile cycling trek from Pittsburgh to Washington D. C., I came away with more than stronger muscles and a chaffed behind, but a good measure of mental rewards!
My ultra fit boyfriend and I, aka B.F. (his heart beats so strongly I can hear it across the room), landed in Pittsburgh on a slightly overcast Sunday, raring to go. Our plan, assemble our bikes at the bike shop where they were shipped and be on our way, 60 miles the first day, a tad aggressive considering plane travel.
We learned regretfully, the bike shop was NOT located on the trailhead as told, but 12 miles away. With 72 instead of 60 miles ahead of us, we were eager to get moving. Handed a sheet of directions and a cursory ‘go left, right, circle here, duck there’ set of verbal directions, we politely nodded and figured we’d rely on the Rand McNally printout for getting to the trail.
Outside to a cool, cloudy afternoon, we felt the first drizzle and our own tension mount. With a wrong turn that took us back to the starting point twenty minutes later, the rain began pouring in pancake-like batter splats.
Fast forward 4 hours and 3 inches of rain. We’d lifted our bikes over railroad tracks, followed 4 sets of bad directions and the worst, followed a couple in a truck who claimed to know the way, (yep, my idea), taking us on a narrow highway which we couldn’t exit for 6 miles, the median a narrow foot between lanes, cars passing at 70 mph. Death felt imminent.
At the end of one road, with our options a steep hill to the left or right, our joy bubble had long burst. Two drowned marmets who’d lost their ‘umph’ for this ‘grand adventure,’ I pointed a shivering hand to the right.
Teeth chattering, ‘Let’s see if someone in this house can help us.’
B. F. conceded with an audible sigh.
A cigarette hanging from her lip, scruffy kitty by her side, a helpful homeowner considered a closed shuttle services, a hotel atop the hill, then invited us to pizza and an overnight, (that idea sent B. F. into the rain). I announced a decision to take the bikes apart to have Ms. cat owner tote our bikes one by one to the hotel in her tiny Camry.
Uh oooooh, one look at B. F.’s face…
‘NO! That’ll destroy the bikes.’
Me: ‘What??’
His frustration palpable, ‘I’m riding back to find a hotel. Do what you want.’
‘You’re leaving me?’ I made nice with the cat lady and jumped on my wet bike to follow this man I didn’t know, my independent self a sodden puppy.
In thirty minutes, we’d found a hotel, in sixty, a restaurant and glass of wine.
Quietly, from behind his glass,
‘BB, we’re both leaders, used to solving problems. When we need to come to a joint decision, let’s say the word ‘cornbread.’
I laughed.
‘And, if one of us just needs to take the lead we’ll say ‘casserole’.
We were clearly hungry!
We laughed, he with a delightful, albeit, weary sparkle in his hazel eyes. And if one of us just needs to leave and take some space, ‘macaroni and cheese.’
I shook my head and smiled…..you know, he just MIGHT be right!
BB Webb