So I figured I can't really go on without a whole piece devoted primarily to riding, as that would be to neglect an aspect that was such a central part of my life in those years. I miss riding my bike a lot in these days of lots too much driving and being inside a fair bit more than I once was… (In fact, this piece has been in waiting since August last year, more than 6 months, while not as much writing was happening, and other pieces kept interrupting… It's interesting how the timing has worked out in the end though, as it often is… More on that later.)
So in 2007 when I moved further away from, well, everywhere really, but further from the city primarily, and from town, and from work, more specifically, the main thing I was concerned about was not becoming reliant on a car. I had owned a car once before, years earlier, a hand me down station wagon Corona, from my father, but since that time I had intentionally chosen not to own a car, and instead I mainly caught public transport and walked, and I occasionally rode a bicycle. Now I was going to be living somewhere with solar electricity and hot water, a composting toilet, rainwater tanks and a vegie garden - a dream rental discovered by way of a beautiful artistic hand drawn ad on a noticeboard - but it was 10km to the closest town, and 20km to the town where I had found a part time job in before and after school care three days a week, and the limited public transport passing somewhat nearby (a few kms from home) didn't get me there in time for my early starts or home after my late finishes.
At first I wondered if I should get a motorbike license and a little postie bike, but then I discovered the existence of electric bicycles, and I was sold. With only a little energy input (200W) to run the little motor in the front wheel, I would be able to get to where I was going faster and with less effort from me over those big distances I would be regularly travelling than if I rode a regular bicycle, and as a bonus I would be still able to ride in the open air and enjoy some easy exercise along the way. The energy input would be much lower than a car, or even a postie bike, and it wouldn't take all that much longer than driving, or riding a motorbike, so with the exercise time thrown in, it seemed an efficient and enjoyable way to travel and keep fit at once.
I did some research, chose my bike, and off I buzzed on my Bumblebee bicycle, never to look back. :-)
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| Shiny new Bumblebee bicycle locked up at work, after one of my very first rides - yay! |
From then on I rode almost everywhere. In the beginning I was living in that beautiful dream sustainable home with my then boyfriend, so sometimes we would drive in his van when we were going somewhere together, and occasionally on my solo journeys, which were mostly to work, I would have some battery trouble, or a puncture, or I would wimp out at a spot of rain and ask him to pick me up, but I rode most of the time, and very quickly clocked up enough kilometres to have gotten me to the top of Australia and back.
The landscapes of my ride were beautiful, and because of the early starts and late finishes that went along with my job, for a good part of the year I rode at those magical hours around sunrises and sunsets, and saw many a beautiful sky on my travels. Long socks became my staple fashion choice, and I would tuck my socks into my pants and choose whole outfits based on the colours of the stripes. And I wore a fancy, flashy, if rather garish, safety hi-vis reflector vest, not taking any chances. In summer, my built in air conditioning (the wind) made the ride more pleasant, while the electric motor took the top off the hills; and in winter I rugged up in layers - good jackets, scarves, headbands under my helmet, two pairs of gloves, and plastic bread bags between my two pairs of socks, and I sang songs to warm me up from the inside.
My first summer, returning late from the nearest train station - 35km away - after a trip to Melbourne with my bicycle, I relished the discovery of the absolute pitch darkness of the roads near my home, a far cry from the ever present street lights of my city upbringing, and discovered that in addition to the handlebar light I had purchased on the way home, I would require a head torch on my head so that I could locate the kangaroos that thumped along beside me outside the beam of my head light, and make sure not to crash into them if they suddenly changed paths! In fact, I soon developed something of a sixth sense with regard to the kangaroos in any case, and found that whenever one appeared I had generally slowed down just prior. I'm still not sure whether this was a subconscious response to hearing them, or smelling them, or what it was, all I know is that I would regularly speed along, but I was never going fast when a kangaroo did appear.
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| Heading towards darkness, a new moon shining above |
In fact I ended up wearing so many lights, for my vision and for my visibility, that one year I rocked up to a Christmas in July party with my friends, and decided I was wearing all the costume I needed to be a Christmas tree and put my head torch and rear helmet light on flash mode and away I went. :-)
Wherever I rode I enjoyed the up hills and downs (though possibly somewhat more the downs!), and grew to really understand and love the microclimates of field and forest, hill and vale. I loved the first hand experience of the weather day to day and the slower changes of the cycle of the seasons.
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| The best of a series of attempts at a bicycle shadow selfie - no mean feat! |
My battery was also getting older and wearing out from all the use, so I had a few occasions on the way home, riding up that last hill, panniers fully stocked with groceries and too many heavy things, to really work my legs - and they were strong legs back then, much as I didn't think so at the time! - and to feel gratitude for the battery that usually helped me on the way, while perhaps occasionally, I admit, cursing its extra dead weight when its power was drained…!
It was a bit easier again when I moved once more, to a little house called Killarney that I loved, where I ended up living for two years, initially by myself - my first time living alone! - and later with housemates. This time I was a little further again from work, but closer to the town becoming more and more the centre of my activities, and a little lower down...! But still there were hills wherever I rode!!
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| My 5kg brick of a battery, a blessing fully charged, a burden when the power ran out... |
I had so many adventures in those days, exploring all the back roads, finding different routes to travel from Blampied, Mollongghip, Eganstown, to Daylesford, Creswick, Ballarat… Seeing things clearly without being boxed in a car, at a slower pace better for observation, and with a much more direct experience of all the ups and downs of the landscape and all the bends and potholes in the roads. During that time I often gave directions describing the hills and curves of the roads, as well as the turns... One brisk night I set off home towards Mollongghip, from Bullarto, after a community gathering for the annual general meeting of the Hepburn Renewable Energy Association. I had arrived there via the main road from Daylesford, but I had chosen from my maps the most direct route to take home afterwards. This route took me through the forest, on tracks I had never travelled before. Half way home the clouds covered the moon, and I realised how lucky I was that it was full moon and only a few clouds in the sky, as I discovered in that moment just how difficult it was to see the forks in the road with only my little torchlights illuminating the beautiful shadows of the forest. I might have easily missed a turn and been lost, away from civilisation with no phone reception or anything on a cold, dark night! But I made it through to the main road, feeling like I'd had quite an adventure, and continued on the other side of the main road, down my usual familiar back tracks through known forest ways to home.
Even my well travelled routes, while known, could have led me to all sorts of trouble. Many of the roads I traversed were really more like tracks, often potholed, or made of really quite large chunks of slippery gravel. I had a number of skids and slides along my way, luckily without any major trouble that could easily have befallen me in quite isolated places. I was lucky too that most of the highways and main roads I travelled had good shoulders, wide so that I could keep clear of the fast passing traffic, especially the trucks, that even so buffeted me with their winds, and mostly in good condition and clear of potholes and rubbish. Even so I had many a puncture, usually in the rain, that required a roadside mend, or a rescue phone call. I grew adept at changing tubes, a handy skill to have. My roadside tube repairs were not quite as successful, so I saved them for later, rather than attempting roadside repairs, after a few failures requiring further stops for repairs.
I realise in retrospect how much pluck I had to have so many adventures without ever feeling any sense of fear or worry. I'm not quite sure how I feel about this now, in some ways I am proud of my pluck and courage, but perhaps I was also a little foolhardy at times. I don't know. There are so many ways that I become more cautious as I age, and I suppose to a degree that is natural, it's a funny one to find a good balance in. Especially interesting as I watch my little ones growing and try to encourage them to take risks while being 100% sure I want to keep them safe. Sometimes I have to restrain myself and allow them to stretch themselves, and even to fall, to let them have adventures too, and to feel those feelings of achievement and stretching in their abilities… While meanwhile I feel as I get older that I do become a little more fragile and perhaps less agile, so I feel it's maybe not a bad idea to take a little more care for that reason. I'm currently also quite a bit less fit - sigh... I never realised just how fit I was until it was gone! - though hopefully this is not a permanent thing, and I also feel a sense of the responsibility I now have to others, so perhaps a little more caution is warranted in that case too, but again, where lies that ideal balance… More reflection required…!!
However I feel about my balance of pluck, courage and foolhardiness in my bicycle days, one thing I am definitely proud of in retrospect is my dedication. Yes, I sometimes took other options when they were available - I drove with my then boyfriend in his van in those early days, and sometimes even got him to collect me, and my bicycle, when tyres were punctured, or it started to rain. I car pooled with friends, found lifts, hitch hiked, took public transport when it was available. But in those days I never faltered in my dedication to riding as my main form of transport. I never considered the option of making my life easier by just getting a car. Rain, hail or shine I rode. I rode more and more as the time went on. And I loved it. I loved it then and I remember it now with so much love, fondness and nostalgia. It changed me for the better all that riding. One day I will ride like that again!
One thing that helped me along my way was the idea of reframing. At the time I had only come across this concept once, in some random blog that I never managed to find again when I looked for it later. I'm pretty sure it was written by a guy with a ginger beard, whose name might or might not have been Anthony. From memory, the blog was about living sustainably and he discussed reframing as a way to make living a sustainable life more enjoyable. I'm pretty sure he used riding bikes as a specific example too. (Or maybe I'm remembering it entirely wrong...!) I certainly applied the idea, as I had understood it from what I had read, and as I had remembered it as the time had gone on, to riding my bike, as well as other ways of living more sustainably.
I applied it by changing the way I thought about some of the inconveniences of riding, as an example, to instead thinking more about all of the many positives that I could choose from to focus on. When I was tired and didn't feel like putting in the effort to ride somewhere, I would think about the exercise I was getting along the way. When I wished I could get somewhere faster, I would think about the time I saved by not having to find a car park, fill a car with petrol, maintain a car, or the extra hours I didn't have to work to pay for the car and all associated costs. Even on a rainy day, when my enthusiasm for riding would occasionally wane a little when I heard the telltale drops on the roof, or I saw the rain from a window or when I stepped outside, I would turn my focus while putting on my waterproofs and setting off, to enjoying the fresh smell of eucalyptus in the air that came up because of the rain, and catching raindrops on my tongue as I rode.
And pretty much every time it ended up being easy once I was on the bike. The exercise naturally contributed to my mental and emotional states as well as my physical state, the joy of the electric bike meant that it really didn't take that much longer to get there at all, especially considering all the time savings, and riding in the rain was actually lovely. Being in the rain is lovely. I mean sure, it's nice to have somewhere to dry off at the end of it, it's important to keep warm - easier when actively riding a bike! - with layers, and as dry as possible with waterproofs top to toe, but really, it's actually very lovely to enjoy the rain falling on us from the sky, and we so often do our best to avoid this that it seems we rarely take the time to stop and enjoy it, but as riding was my only option from getting from A to B, that meant, time to time, I had to go out in the rain, and enjoy it. In fact I grew to love fully experiencing all of the weather - hot, cold, rain, hail, shine, and everything in between. There's nothing like being immersed in the experience of just letting it be as it is, not using our almost ever present climate control options to make it always the uniform same comfortable to the point of numbness (numb in a different way than frosty fingers and toes!) temperature.
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| Shining jewels of cold weather experience at my feet |
I loved riding so much that when I had the opportunity to take part in a special photography exhibition about sacred spaces, by Kate Baker and David Roberts, the space I chose for my photograph was my bike. In the photograph I am standing beside my bike, as the antique cameras being used couldn't quite cope with taking a photograph of me enjoying the motion of riding! But perhaps it is fitting that I am standing instead, with my bike, under a tree, another of my most sacred spaces, with the dappled sun shining through above me, and my feet grounded on the earth.
We were asked to write some words to accompany our photographs. Here are mine:
On my bike I feel present; within myself and the world around me.
I see the road in front; forests, fields, creeks, hills all around.
I see wondrous skies of many colours.
Little details I pass stand out.
I hear songs of birds, thumps of startled wallabies.
I stare back with a smile at puzzled cows.
I know to slow at the scent of an unseen kangaroo.
I smell trees, wafting aromas of flowers,
and the freshness of beautiful rain cleansing the world and cleansing me.
and the freshness of beautiful rain cleansing the world and cleansing me.
I catch raindrops on my tongue and look for puddles in the dark.
The chill on misty winter mornings wakes my mind as my fingers and toes wriggle away from numbness.
The sun on my back warms my body.
I feel balanced as my legs push ever onwards.
I sing as I ride; about love and where I am in my landscape of senses.
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| Curious cows |
Reading it now, the words take me back, to that beautiful, somehow still, while clearly in motion, balanced sacred space.
Aaaaaahhhhh… Every time, I just feel like sitting with that feeling. I hope you can feel it too.
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| Morning sunlight |
Riding, for some reason, from the very beginning, always inspired me to sing. I sang most of the time I was on my bike, also aided by my motor haha… I will admit the singing came less easily on the uphills when greater input from me was required!
I sang more when I was on my bike; and I sang more when I was not on my bike, on the days, during the weeks, when I was regularly riding. I made up little ditties about riding mostly, about the hills, the chills, headwinds and tailwinds… My song about spotting puddles in the dark later grew into a song that went a little deeper, but the first song that I realised was something a bit more, was inspired by a beautiful sunset and a new moon. Even this song took a while to be complete and in the mean time another song, about which I have already written, came along to be the first song I fully finished.
That was my Song for Iain. As it happened, it was also just after Iain passed away that I had my first bicycle crash. Looking back now, I can see how this all - my first crash, and then more, my injuries, also the songs, and losing Iain - linked in with the changes that were beginning to happen to me, how I was feeling, sensing, understanding, how all that had long lain still inside me was growing up to the surface, making itself known. All that was to lead me on my journeying to come.
This first crash happened as I rode from the place where Iain had lived, where we, his friends and family, had gathered after he passed, on my way to the station, to catch the train to Melbourne, to go to Iain's viewing. It was the first time I had gone to see the body of someone passed, someone I had known and loved. I crashed right at the start of the journey, just as I was leaving his old home. I did some kind of somersault after skidding in the gravel on a corner after going too fast down a little hill. Somehow my bike ended up landing completely upside down, and on a slight angle, held up in that position by one handlebar being so deeply embedded in the ground I had to use all my force to pull it out again. To this day I wish I'd stopped to take a photo of that landing before I righted the bike and sped on to the station so as not to miss my train. I didn't realise until later that I had injured my left knee in the crash, to the point that I couldn't ride again after I arrived in Melbourne, that day, or for another 6 weeks. At the station I uncovered the grazing, but the pain, swelling, restriction of movement and bruising didn't appear until later...
The next day I sang Iain's song at his funeral, my first time singing solo in front of so many people, and sharing my own song.
The next day I sang Iain's song at his funeral, my first time singing solo in front of so many people, and sharing my own song.
While I was unable to ride I hitched around the place instead. By that time, as well as before and after school care, and teaching teenagers in residential care in between, I was now also doing some volunteer admin for the Hepburn Relocalisation Network, along with Su Dennett, at her home in Hepburn. Su highly approves of and encourages hitch hiking, and regularly hitches herself, and Hepburn is an awesome place for it with so many friendly locals willing to give someone a ride. So I hitched there, I hitched to work, and back home again, and I loved it. More on hitching another time…
After my 6 weeks of recovery, I was back on my bike again for another 6 weeks or so, before one night, as I was riding up in Daylesford, lights a flashing and all, a car pulled out in front of me. They hadn't seen me, despite my best efforts at visibility, in that dark spot, but they had paused before pulling out so I thought they had seen me and continued forth. This time I made contact with my right knee, to their front panel, and also with my head - yay for helmets - to their windscreen. That freaked the driver right out! She was initially more upset than me, though I think that was also because of my initial shock… And perhaps because she admitted her friends had tried to convince her she'd drunk too much to drive... I tried to stand to move my bike, and its now detached front wheel, off the road, and discovered I couldn't. The driver helped me and my bike to the side of the road, as I meanwhile reassured her that I was ok. More or less anyway… Another 6 weeks off the bike and hitch hiking from here to there.
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| Bruised cheek from windscreen face plant |
Through those injuries, I really began my journey of healing. Looking back now I can see that time as my Assemblage Point, as I shared previously. It took me a while to really listen though, so in the end it took some more injuries before I really got the message.
I learned to ride a motorbike (perhaps not the most clever idea after crashing my bicycle twice), inspired by my new partner's plan to ride to the top of Cape York, and my wish to go along too. I got myself a Yamaha XT, and after some months of learning, set off, with my then partner of a year and a half or so, on our first big practice trip - destination: Flinders Ranges. On our second day, we got as far as half way between Mildura and Broken Hill - Broken "Heel" as I have since called it, and as the day was waning, we turned off on a side road to look for a place to set up camp. I hit a patch of sand, had no idea how to handle it, fishtailed further and further out of control, the bike and I somersaulted and the bike ended up landing on my right ankle. We stopped right there for the night as it was almost dark already, bandaging and raising my leg, and in the morning we hitched me a ride in to Mildura hospital, where I had surgery to reattach the bottom piece of my tibia (not actually my heel but close enough) with two screws. Luckily, at least, the two bicycle crashes had inspired me to finally get around to purchasing myself some knee guards, which I was wearing when I crashed, under my kevlar jeans, so despite some bruising on my right knee, it was my petrol tank that lost a fifth of its capacity, and not my knee.
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| Delirious with shock, post accident |
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| Not as delirious, the next day at Mildura hospital |
That injury was still somehow not quite enough for me as it really set me off on more of a downward spiral rather than helping me to find new ways. I was so depressed about my limitations of my motion, I missed my bike, everything was difficult. In retrospect, moving into a caravan where the only toilet was a dig it yourself hole was perhaps not the best move while still on crutches, but in the end I do not regret how things came about. Even if I had to have another spill on sand, this time only 500m from my caravan/shed home, and this time on my bicycle, not the motorbike - which I never quite managed to get back to - and this time break a wrist, just to drive the point home…
There was also a non bike related injury in there... I sliced my finger pretty much to the bone, in a very-sharp-knife cutting softer-than-expected-bread incident. Some may have thought I was just trying to get out of washing the dishes, but there was more to it than that...
It's funny sometimes the roads life takes you on. I wouldn't be here where I am right now, if I hadn't taken all those turns, or if I hadn't had all those accidents along the way. It was such a challenging time, but perhaps without challenges we may not grow to our full potential. Not that I'm saying I would recommend crashing bicycles, or motorbikes, or cutting fingers, as a means for personal development, but in the end that is what I was led to, through all that occurred then, and the journey it all led me to take. All the injuries, and the time of struggle mentally and emotionally that followed, led me in the end to a new place, a better place, a stronger place, a place I never imagined in my wildest dreams. An amazing place. Right here and right now.
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| After that car pulled out in front of me, I always assumed, EVERY time, that cars did not see me, and I would slow down to stop in case. Pretty sure if I hadn't been doing that, at the intersection just here on the right, one day I would have been taken out, head on, at almost full speed, by a car that turned out barely slowing. A lot more nasty. Defensive riding makes sense. Talk about crossroads in life. |
I guess in a way that's another example of reframing. Instead of focussing on the difficulties of those times, now I can see the beautiful gifts that came of it all. As I said before, at that time, and even when I started writing this piece last August, the only time I had really come across this idea of reframing, was that blog I had read so long ago. Googling it as I began to write this, I discovered for the first time that it's actually a particular technique used by psychologists and counsellors. And then in a strange coincidence of timing (as aforementioned), as so often happens in this writing - coming as and when it will - I have in the time since last August, unexpectedly ended up now studying counselling - a path I was not expecting to be drawn to, and in fact, as this piece was coming up again to be written, I have just finished my second unit, including several counselling techniques, among them, you guessed it, reframing.
It's quite a wonderful technique. Really I can see now it's been in my life a lot more than I realised. The word comes up when I search my emails, looking for a little piece of this writing that I had written about reframing (and hoped I had emailed as I had lost it along the way from my phone, with the help of a rock pool - sigh), here and there in different contexts. And I can see how often I do use the technique, whether consciously or subconsciously, to try to take a more positive view of various things, everything from small bumps in life to the greater challenges of existence. And I regularly try to see things from the perspectives of others, to the best of my ability, for my own understanding, for my sake, and for theirs, to try to find common ground, or a way forward, a way to communicate, or a way to compromise. It's not always easy to see things from others' perspectives, and it's not always easy to see things from a better perspective, a more positive perspective, a more balanced perspective, which I guess is part of why we have counsellors, to help us take a more objective view and find those other ways to see things, but if we can, it's always worth it.
Despite my many accidents and injuries, I never gave up riding. I went back to it each time once my physical limitations allowed, part time to start with after my broken ankle (along with a car a kind friend had given me), then back to my main mode. It was great too once I left the country to move briefly back to the big city before I really embarked on my physical journey, and had a job with night shifts when other transport options were limited - quiet city roads are another joy for riding. To be honest I think I would be pretty scared to ride amongst traffic, especially having had my close encounter of the vehicular kind... But night time city riding is awesome. And everything suddenly seems so close! I had some more adventures off the beaten track too, even a bicycle camping off road adventure. But now, with two small people in my life who are rarely not by my side, I haven't yet managed to work out logistics for multiple person bicycle possibilities, and the shoulders aren't great on our roads unfortunately either, so I'd be nervous on behalf of the two small most precious people in my world, to take them with me that way. So for now, my bicycle days are a beautiful memory, and a dream for the future. One day again. I'm looking forward to it. It's starting to feel like it's not so far away, especially with all this reminiscing...
And no reminiscing on my bicycle days would be complete without the accompanying soundtrack, so I'll leave you with some of my bicycle music, songs from my days of wheels on the road, my hair blowing in the wind, my face in the fresh air, the world around me whizzing past in all its beautiful glory. I hope you enjoy. :-) (Note, some are still looking for their accompaniment, I'll get there eventually! Raindrop sounding ukulele for Spotting puddles I'm feeling - plinkety plinky perfect. Perhaps some cello, or perhaps nothing for some. We shall see… If anyone feels like contributing to this long awaited accompaniment project, please get in touch, I would love that!) And, to accompany the songs, more photographs.
Despite my many accidents and injuries, I never gave up riding. I went back to it each time once my physical limitations allowed, part time to start with after my broken ankle (along with a car a kind friend had given me), then back to my main mode. It was great too once I left the country to move briefly back to the big city before I really embarked on my physical journey, and had a job with night shifts when other transport options were limited - quiet city roads are another joy for riding. To be honest I think I would be pretty scared to ride amongst traffic, especially having had my close encounter of the vehicular kind... But night time city riding is awesome. And everything suddenly seems so close! I had some more adventures off the beaten track too, even a bicycle camping off road adventure. But now, with two small people in my life who are rarely not by my side, I haven't yet managed to work out logistics for multiple person bicycle possibilities, and the shoulders aren't great on our roads unfortunately either, so I'd be nervous on behalf of the two small most precious people in my world, to take them with me that way. So for now, my bicycle days are a beautiful memory, and a dream for the future. One day again. I'm looking forward to it. It's starting to feel like it's not so far away, especially with all this reminiscing...
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| City night bike (observant readers may notice the bike is new, front wheel with motor is the same) |
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| Bike camping adventure - hump on back is my ukulele! |
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| Yep, that's 'spotting puddles in the dark'...!! |
Listen or download on Soundcloud
Note - my previous perfect (I'm sure it was) attempt at recording somehow failed to actually record start to finish - phone issues as usual, and this one has a couple of imperfections, but I ran out of time with the arrival home of my family directly after I finished this one, so I'm uploading it now rather than waiting the million years for my next chance to record in a quiet place... If you find that you would love to listen to this on repeat, please get in touch and encourage me to hurry up and re-record, with greater perfection. Meantime, thank you for your acceptance of my imperfection.
Note - my previous perfect (I'm sure it was) attempt at recording somehow failed to actually record start to finish - phone issues as usual, and this one has a couple of imperfections, but I ran out of time with the arrival home of my family directly after I finished this one, so I'm uploading it now rather than waiting the million years for my next chance to record in a quiet place... If you find that you would love to listen to this on repeat, please get in touch and encourage me to hurry up and re-record, with greater perfection. Meantime, thank you for your acceptance of my imperfection.
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| Oh those bands of beautiful colour |
All the ditties! - motivational through to capturing the ambience of the moment
