Easter Bound on a Unicorn ~ 2017, 4.30

no lightening struck; I'm pretty sure Jesus rides a motorcycle, yup

  The weekend weather forecast looked promising, "it's gonna be nice this weekend, Sunday should be good for riding..." says he. A brief moment for me to process the lure, "It's Easter. My plans have been scuttled; I'd love to ride... just one thing though.... I'd like to go to Easter services. Anywhere near by you...do you know of any small town churches down your way?" my hopeful response. "Nope, haven't been to church in ages..." was his somber reply. He was not digging this idea. A silent while later he countered with a query, "are biker jackets ok?" "they should be, I'll send you the link of a small United Church of Christ that's near you. Seems like a nice little church..." So a plan was made; I un-winterized my riding gear and headed down his way.

  At his breakfast table, I pondered to myself,  this would be the first ride out in 2017 season for me. My thoughts were mixed with delight for riding so very early in VT,  and trepidation laced with uncertainty. This was a difficult winter for me; usually the cool temperatures of these darker months aid my movement and function. But not so this time around, it was the toughest winter since my Dx of MS in '07. My legs are feeling weaker than previous seasons, more like a hot August day when I wilt more than I walk. This day was a balmy 70 degrees out, warm enough to addle my brain  when I'm not rolling. I talked him into this; inventorying my jacket, fleece vest over my tee shirt (navy mom version), boots, scarf, open face lid, gloves camera, and cane accounted for. I was as prepared as I could be and moving toward the door before he had a change in heart.

 Stepping into sunshine and warm air, carefully walking across the short lumpy distance to his bike, I was glad I opted out of wearing my chapps.
They hinder my walking and today was too balmy, making that worse for me. He was mostly ready, waiting for me to mount up. I got on okay, not too clumsy; but I must tone-up, loose my winter-baker's-belly and get back to riding weight. I was processing a jumble of thoughts; this was early to get out; 4/16 a real ride, not just a quickie...Noticing my lesser muscle tone...thinking how to tone up, get stronger, strong enough to ride well...We have plans this summer, Loring ME for time trials, some day runs with purpose, maybe to Canada with friends. This weakness won't do. This can't be the 'new normal' for me. How to adapt and ride on..."

 As we prepared to leave, a popular biker credo fell from his lips, " I'd rather be out riding thinking about church; than be in church thinking about riding..."

 http://www.unitedchurch.us/

Truth is, if it wasn't a brown-gray-muddy-pre-spring day, I'd be in agreement. But it's Easter Sunday, the most sacred day for me. While I'm not a classic congregationalist, I am a Jesus-loving, Buddhist-leaning, Quaker-wannabe, generic Christian. I love Jesus, he's a kewl dude. period. This meant a lot to me; riding partner knew that and agreed to drive me, on his Vic. Our chosen church was a short twirl away over clean roads, in pleasant riding weather and past the temptation to keep rolling. We arrived in the small ski town, in unceremonious style, to an empty parking area. It felt like a ghost town as we trolled the side streets; twice. The church was a magnificent architectural design; like none I've ever seen in VT, for a church.

a ski town, Ludlow VT

  The unicorn neatly backed into the curb and shut down, we made our way in and up the stairs to the sanctuary. A three story vaulted space, revealing exposed massive Norse beams in a creamy white lacquer  framing an ochre room glowing with filtered sunlight. Three rows of gracefully curved pews filled the space, like a wave of sound from raised pulpit, I was struck how it echoed the sweepers we long for as bikers. We left our lids on the bike, but wore our jackets in, expecting scant heat inside but were met with warmth and comfort in the voluminous space.

  Looking around we noticed,  among this congregation, we were the youngest attendants and the only ones in leather. I chose the second row, center group,  of antique pews in front of the floral stage,  so I could see and hear the service. We were graciously welcomed by all, offered cushions for our smooth hardwood seats, which we declined we're bikers after all, and settled in for some Easter love. I enjoyed a pleasant sermon including the "passing of the peace" where most of the attendees came to us and invited us to stay for fellowship and coffee post service, and that's when I saw my stoic biker-chauffeur crack a smile. It would be a reasonable trade for precious riding time; we descended the stairs to the community room, the moment bikerman had waited for and my chance to meet new friends. The long, immaculate table was filled with pastries and fruit, but the giant coffee urn was not ready to yield hot coffee, palpable disappointment between us both,  we partook of the gleaming restrooms and made our exit with a dozen invitations to return anytime.

  I felt fully churched-up and ready for the day's ride. Out of doors, traversing the lawn, I had to admit,  he was kind of right, as clouds and wind had moved in while we sat inside. Rolling away from the landmark, he chose a familiar road that looked naked in the tunnels of bare trees. Ice remained on ponds with Canadian geese huddled on any open water. Cruising along, we saw very few cars and fewer bikes out. Each store we stopped at to get some hot coffee was closed for the holiday, leaving us to suffer onward without.  I reminded myself it was Easter after all, the day to remember sacrifice. I'm not sure my under-caffinated bikerman valued that lesson as willingly as I.

ice on the ponds was holding firm

   It was a short ride by our standards, but it felt so good to get out, go over the roads and quench that first-ride-for-me thirst. As weak as I felt, it was a good tune-up for me. Gliding into his dooryard, the final time I'd get off this day, I had made good use of my cane in my right hand. It gave me something to reach for and lean onto as I coaxed my left leg over the backrest. It was an ok dismount, but needed improvement in grace and style. I do after all, wish to look good on his bike, and getting off it. All the while, puzzling my options for adapting and adapting some more if it'll keep me riding, taking pictures and telling stories. As always grateful for his indulging my passion to ride.


peace ~ resa