The Not-So-Long-Ride-2009

"There's no fool like an old fool."

And then there's Elijah.

It was the third day into the quest before I even began to have a clue about what was really going on. 

Picture this:  there I am, trudging alongside the highway, with trucks barreling ass by and there's this big whoosh of wind and the sun is beating down and there's the old man, Elijah, just pushing away.  Stopping every few yards to catch his breath.

Somewhere in there we began to see that this ride was not about much of anything other than ego.

Wow.

Pushing and straining up that hill, beginning to see myself reaching still for the corroded ring of geezer-glory.  Yeah, dig on it.

And I had secretly told myself that if I did even one more mile than the Lawrence, KS to Boulder, CO ride back in 19(gulp)73.  Starting to see?

Denial.  Yeah, I can ride 885 miles across hills and mountains and desolate stretches of desert.  You betcha.  Can do geezer here.

So I see that the read antagonist in this mythic quest was not the hills, the narrowness of the highway, my nearly-to-the-bone weariness--none of that.

The real antagonist was my, yeah, ego.

Look at me.

In the Heroic Quest, the Hero is always confronted with antagonists.  His job is to defeat them by wile or might.

In my case, realizing that the hills were no longer what it was all about, I took a piece of cardboard and wrote on it, "Will Pay/$20/Llano"

Long story short, by Mason I was having serious breathing issues.  Oh, yeah, the COPD I've managed to minimize throughout all of this.  I seriously needed an inhaler and had none.  Wheezing, minutes of heaving breathing just to get back to normal.

Mason is over a thousand feet higher than Austin.

Tucson, the former goal, is a thousand feet higher than Mason.

So it was ego.

Angels of Aloha were all around me from the very beginning of this.  The fantasic staff of Lift Cafe, the incredibly generous folk at Bicycle Sport Shop (thanks Kris, Jason, and Josh!), as well as those I met along the way.

Next post I'll try to flesh this thing out.  As it is I've spent the past day just trying to digest and assimilate all that which I learned on this Quest.

And, when all the dust has settled, surely it must be looked on as a kind of comedy of denial of what is so.  No, I cannot ride up mountains anymore.  No, I cannot snap back from exhaustion as I used to.

My warranties are rapidly running out, and that's such a good thing to know, see.  There will be no last long ride.

Somewhere that first day I crossed a line into "...the most strenuous bicycle activity done since 1973."  Gawd.  And there were three days of that, back-to- back.

Pushing up that hill I saw myself driven by pride and arrogance and denial of what is so.  I saw an old man who didn't want to accept that he was...old.

The Real Quest, then, was not about making the long ride to Tucson.  The Real Quest was about acceptance of the way things are.

The Real Quest was about seeing, recognizing the Angels of Aloha as they again and again and again manifested and appeared.

I live in a world which by the day becomes more beautiful and magical.  And I see that the arrogance of that pushing up the long, long hill was what I was there to see and overcome.

I humbly say that my pride did not want to admit defeat to all those of you who have believed in me and supported me in this dream of mine.

But I believe this:  that our relationship, that which exists between you and me, has a kind of magic to it.  I feel it, especially when the Spirit of Truth breaks through all the broadband channels of illusion/delusion we so ardently worship. 

 So.  We move outward.  We follow dreams of substance, dreams of fluff.  Dreams which have a way of becoming incredible teachers.

The Scripture says, "I am found by those who sought me not."

Sometimes the Real Quest is hidden within the Ostensible Quest.  On the third day out, pushing arrogantly up that hill in absolute service to my ego, I began to see that.

It was a difficult thing to see.  And the tiredness of the struggle helped me settle into the ease of acceptance.

In the end, the hills were Angels of Aloha.  They broke me to the point where my eyes began to open.

In the next post I want to write about Randy Garcia, who let me sleep on his couch that last night and drove me all the way to Austin the next day.

An Angel of Aloha.  And guess where he is tonight, even as I write:

Honolulu.

I've asked him to go to Waikiki and photograph "The Wizard Stones of Waikiki" for me.  Many years ago, I was the kahu (keeper) of the stones.  So Randy will be getting pictures for me--and for you.

Stay posted.

Much aloha, joy, and magical reality,

Elijah