Biker's Diary started in 1999 as a weekly column in a local newspaper then known as the River Valley Reader, now the Bluff Country Reader. Located in a very popular tourist area, the publisher's plan was a newspaper that emphasized local arts, culture, and recreation. Dr. Jan applauded that effort, and had spent a year as a community columnist for another paper, so she submitted some sample columns and proposed this column, written by a biker. Ten successful years later, she was asked by a faithful reader is she intended to publish the columns in a book. That started her thinking, and she asked her publisher for permission to do so, which was granted. At the beginning, Dr. Jan was living in Lincoln, and commuting to her and Spouse Roger's country place near Lanesboro MN. Upon retirement, they chose that country place as their primary residence. Those locations - and the people along the way - provided fodder for the mill of writing, as have the many places around the world to which they have both traveled and/or at which Dr. Jan has worked. The column started out as a way to capture the ambling and sometimes philosophical thoughts and experiences triggered by almost-daily time spent on a bike. When a serious illness got in the way of biking, the habit of writing about life became almost a tension reliever as she wrote about that experience. In the years since it started, the column has evolved into writing about anything and everything she and others experience in life. This book captures some of the best of those first ten years.
Biker's Diary: The Best of Ten Years
One woman's adventures in life, both on and off her bicycle.By Jan MeyerAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2012 Jan Meyer
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4685-4102-1Chapter One
December 2011
Forward
It wasn't easy to select published columns to include in this "Best of" book. I would have liked to include almost all of the columns. But since that wasn't very practical for many reasons, I did not find an ideal method of selection. Should I do an average of one a month for each of the ten years? Or one for each season? What I ended up with was a very random collection, and hopefully I found at least my own favorites.
I decided that the best way to start was not with the first column, but with the tenth anniversary one, which provides a better introduction than anything I could add.
And I would be remiss if I did not mention a couple of people who have been important in this process: first, Spouse Roger who never wanted his name in the newspaper but continues to put up with it. And Melissa Vander Plas, who has been editor for most of these ten years and always infinitely patient and supportive. Also, our owner/publisher, Dave Phillips, who generously allowed me to use this material that had been written for his newspaper. Thanks to Marv Eggert who shot the beautiful cover photo. Last, but not least, thanks to readers, without whom we wouldn't have a newspaper to publish!
21 October 2009
Ten years goes by very quickly
When someone asks why I write this column, I have had no ready answer. Thinking about that seems timely right now, because this week marks an important anniversary: the first "Biker's Diary" column appeared in what was then the River Valley Reader on October 25, 1999. It has already been ten years of weekly columns!
At one time when I was on a panel of community columnists for a different newspaper, one of the other writers responded very quickly to the "Why write" question: "I write to make sense of the world around me." I tried that on, but it didn't fit me. I finally concluded that I write for many reasons, and in looking over ten years' worth of columns, that still holds true: I write to learn, laugh, and feel. And if anyone reads it, hopefully they will do the same.
At first, I wrote a lot about the joy of being out on a bike, and the marvels of the available trails both here when our place was still a weekend spot, and in Lincoln NE where we were living at the time. Often things that happened on the bike or on the trails would remind me of other stuff that would then become fodder for my next column.
Sometimes I write to remember people and how they were important to others, as I did when I wrote about Charlie Pick-up, whom I believe was Minnesota's first environmentalist. In the 1940's and early `50's he wandered along the roads near my hometown picking up trash, sorting it as useable and not, into various gunnysacks he carried along. Another time I wrote about one of my earliest Lanesboro friends, Kathy Brewster, and how I missed her presence in town after her untimely death.
I have written to commemorate important events. After 9/11/01, when I was stuck in Denver for five days enroute to Bangkok, Thailand, I wrote about that experience, and in fact, wrote about it for three weeks in a row! And I've been able to sometimes give some needed publicity to deserving organizations seeking help from the public, my favorite being the recent Honor Flights.
A lot of lesser events have also been topics for my column over the years, such as when the raccoons got into the food I had left out of doors in what I called my 'refrigerator annex.' I've written about birthdays and anniversaries, about the dog, Mugs, at the then-local gas station, and about the neighbor's dog and the other neighbor's cattle. Travel has been a frequent topic, both domestic and international trips. I've written about cultural differences, and going to weddings and funerals in Southeast Asia.
Sometimes writing has been a way to cope with stress. Never was that more true than after I had been diagnosed with a particularly virulent form of blood cancer, Acute Myeloid Leukemia. From the day of the diagnosis, my Biker's Diary was my constant companion. I became the "queen of sheen" with my bald head, and writing about those experiences was for me an excellent way of dealing with them.
It's been a great ride over the past ten years. Now, because of looking over my notebooks filled with the columns, I have made two decisions. Some readers have asked if I was ever going to put these in a book. I am, and will be finishing up the details of getting Biker's Diary: The Best of Ten Years published, maybe soon. Interested readers can watch this column for information on how to get a copy.
Second, I decided I like a lot of what I wrote, right from the start, and a good place to end this week's page is at the beginning. (So, on this date in the newspaper version, I reprinted the very first page of my Biker's Diary! In this ten-year anniversary collection, just read on: it is next!)
25 October 1999
Freedom in stages: pedal power
As the youngest of three children, I was impatient with being relegated to a tricycle when my older brother and sister already had two-wheelers. I remember putting up with it only long enough to convince my father that I could ride it and deserved to graduate to a "big kids bike." Then I was equally insistent I would not use training wheels. The result was that I learned the balance of the bicycle by his holding me up until I could do it alone. I still marvel at his patience. Finally, when I had mastered it, I thrilled in the exhilaration of riding further and further from home—on my own!
That sense of freedom—or perhaps now it is release—is still associated with my bicycle. Our area has arguably the best and most accessible system of bike trails anywhere. So, when we first moved here, it was with joy that I headed out, first on a borrowed bike and then with a brand new one of my own.
We all know we should ride or walk the trails for the exercise: it's good for us. But doing something only because it is good for me isn't always my best motivator. Capturing that sense of freedom, which I first associated with my childhood bicycle, is a far more powerful motivator. Even more appealing is the sense of relaxation, the thrill of achievement, and yes, I will even admit to a little twinge of feeling righteous about it. There is definitely something to "pedal power."
In retrospect, getting a bicycle—a two-wheeler—was the first of many steps which felt like newly acquired freedom. Getting my driver's license was another stage: I could drive to surrounding towns that I could not get to on my bicycle, and I could take friends along. My parents going on a trip and leaving us home without a chaperone was an important first. Leaving home myself was another big step. Going away on my first company-paid business trip made me feel terribly important, and of course free: there was no boss around to be in charge or making or second-guessing decisions!
Perhaps those stages of freedom were really signals of trust: my parents first trusted me with a "big kids bike," along with its expanded territory, not simply because I had learned to ride without falling off, but because they trusted me to be responsible with that freedom. The lesson learned was that having fulfilled their expectations, I could gain the next stage of freedom.
As I sit at the edge of the trail now, contemplating a fiery sunset over these magnificently colorful fields and wooded bluffs, I realize I have come full circle. I have experienced most of the freedoms of this life. Now it feels good to just relax on the trail, pausing now and then to think in gratitude of those who had the wisdom to provide the opportunities—the freedoms and the trails—for us.
01 November 1999
Into the wind
Being on a bicycle gives a different perspective of the terrain. For someone who grew up in the northern climes and has spent most of my adult life in office buildings, doing anything out-of-doors is an exhilarating experience, even chores like caring for the yard (well, within reason), or painting the garage. There is just something about the open air that expands the boundaries, not just the removal of the physical walls and ceilings, but also expanding the thinking process, the mental boundaries. Adding movement—fast walking or running—increases the sense of freedom. The real release, however, is on a bicycle.
The effort of pedaling is both physically and mentally easier than that of running. All of the other senses are then cut free to "kick in" to the external environment. Smells change more suddenly as the path moves between flowers and shrubs to trees, then crosses a busy intersection or through a parking lot of concrete or fresh tar. Bright sunlight doesn't just give way to the dim light of tree-canopied tunnels; instead, it is a sudden surrender. The voices of the birds are a welcome replacement to the raucous exchanges of the high school track teams using the trails for practice. The winds, which seemed non-existent before leaving home, carry the promise of a weather change and become more reliable than the weather report.
Biking the trails is an experience in reality, or a reality check. It is an assault on the senses, a reminder of all the facets of each of life's dimensions. At first I didn't know where the "hills" were until I was breathing harder and unknowingly slowing down. Now I imagine the trains of old on this same trail, chugging laboriously on the long, slow, gradual incline, wheels turning in tune with "I think I can, I think I can."
The incline no longer seems so difficult, and I have learned to face the wind before I am tired, keeping it to my back on the way home. On the last short, but steep, push up my own driveway, my exhilaration becomes another change, "I knew I could, I knew I could."
Being on a bicycle is a good reminder of another lesson learned long ago about the need for anticipating and planning. To paraphrase Ella Wheeler Wilcox, "One biker rides east and another west while the self-same breezes blow: 'Tis the set of the sail and not the gale that bids them where to go."
08 November 1999
The destination biker
Much of my adult life has been spent in the airline industry in which a "DB" was someone who was "denied boarding," meaning an oversold flight and the latecomer or standby employee was not going to get a seat. On the bike trails, I have learned that a DB is a Destination Biker.
Whenever possible, I bike with someone else. That is not because I don't like to do things alone. Quite to the contrary, I have mostly lived alone. I usually travel alone on business, and much of the time I work alone. I do like my own company. But I like to bike with someone else because then I am committed to doing more than riding to the grocery store for a carton of milk. In fact, then I am committed to riding, and it is much more difficult to make excuses to stay at home.
Often my biking partner is my neighbor. She is a Destination Biker (DB). We don't start out on our ride until we have agreed on not just a direction—into the wind first—but a specific destination. I have learned that her definition of an appropriate destination is one that serves coffee and preferably express or latte. Mine serves diet cola. I must admit that sometimes we spend more time talking over our beverages than we do on the bikes.
Fortunately it is easy to be a DB on the trails. In both directions, the possibilities for coffee abound. Better yet, there are innumerable choices from which to view the leaves, or the wildlife, or the farming, or even the tourists. More mundane possibilities are the grocery store, the bank, a haircut ... we even started out one day to go to the end of the trail. We didn't make it, so we just changed our Destination.
Our list of preferred destinations has evolved. As the summer wore on my friend's preference for coffee changed to finding something cold, like a nice iced lemonade. As the crops in the fields grew and matured, we stopped at different points to soak in the changes. As the leaves have changed, we have sought out better places to view the trees and the hills. And when winter arrives for real, perhaps we will change to walking, or to skis.
A friend who is retiring soon sent me a copy of the poem about "When I am old I will pick more daisies." He said life is too short to work all the time. For me, biking is a form of picking daisies; it means I am slowing down enough to take the time to get out on the bike. The next very enjoyable step has been to figure out where on the trails those proverbial daisies are. And then to just keep on picking. Or even pedaling, even without a Destination.
06 December 1999
Ritual and important changes in life
There are rituals involved in biking, things that must be done the same each time I go out, no matter which direction I am heading. My helmet, gloves, and sunglasses are always hanging over the handlebars; my carryall bag should be ready along with a list and money if I am running errands during the day's ride. Preparation is a ritual I go through the evening before; it's a habit I learned a long time ago when I was an "Early Bird Racquetballer." The same rituals are useful for biking.
This morning I was reminded again of those rituals when something was not where it was supposed to be. Of course, after finally getting it together, hopping on the bike and starting down the hill, my thinking about rituals continued, since I have often been frustrated when others do not understand the importance of ritual.
My friend, David, was getting a divorce. Considering himself the injured party, he was sure that if he was just nice enough, and helpful enough, she would realize what a jewel he was and take him back. So, he left the house with almost nothing, unless you count the rec room furniture—really worn-out "early marriage" castoffs—and he went back every weekend to do the odd chores around the house that he had never seemed to find time to do before he moved out. He was living in what he was sure would be temporary quarters: newspapers taped over the windows, mold growing in the sinks, and an old shoe in the refrigerator between bottles of beer.
She didn't reconsider, however, and the day of the final court date was fast approaching. Acting as if it was impending doom, David was threatening to jump off the roof of the eight-story building in which we worked. We decided he needed a diversion, so in the morning while he was in divorce court we arranged an impromptu get-together: a single shower during which we would set David up for real living as a new bachelor. Everyone was to rush home and bring back any duplicates from their own houses, i.e., potato peeler, can opener, etc. My friend Denise was creative and rapidly wrapped all the offerings in newspaper, even making newspaper bows. The coffee table in my living room was huge and round; we heaped all the gifts on it so that it was a pyramid of black and white packages. Since we were doing a "shower," we needed an umbrella and the only one available was a black one, which another friend promptly decorated with white toilet paper. Someone commented that it looked slightly like a shower for "Rosemary's Baby."
We had a great time. One of the rules that developed early in the event was that David had to open each gift in front of the gathered crowd, and "ooh and aah" like women had to do for ages at wedding and baby showers. When he didn't know the intended use of the gift, such as hamburger "patty stackers," the crowd collectively made up an hilarious use.
We had unintentionally used one of life's "natural" tools in managing change: every culture in every time and place has rituals for the big changes in life such as birth, coming of age, the start of a new family, and death. Our culture now needed one for divorce. We informally packaged our idea of the Single Shower to bring out again when the next person in our group was in need of marking one of life's turning points.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Biker's Diary: The Best of Ten Yearsby Jan Meyer Copyright © 2012 by Jan Meyer. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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