Wipeouts, Wasps, and Walls

Tuesday, 18. August 2009 by Dan Ryan

Ever wish you could rewind history, somehow go back in time and alter something you did or thought?

For me, that moment would be the morning of Saturday, July 18th. I awoke to one of those gloriously crisp summer mornings, blissfully unaware of what was about to take place. All I knew was that these conditions were screaming for one last training ride before I packed my road bike and headed west to Yellowstone with my brother.

With the temp probably hovering in the low 60’s, I wore a t-shirt and a running shirt, but quickly realized this was too much. After 4 miles, I chucked the t-shirt off to the side of the road and forged on. I’d pick it up on the way back.

After an exhilarating 30-mile ride, I did just that. I had planned on jamming the t-shirt into the bag below my seat, but that wasn’t going to work. So I briefly thought about tucking it down my running shirt before deciding to wad it up and just pin the shirt against a handlebar. After all, I was only a couple miles from being done.

With a couple minutes left, I kicked it in gear and really tried to bust out that last mile. I remember glancing down at my speedometer, which read 18.5 mph. Seconds later, my front wheel locked up and literally stopped instantly.

Unfortunately, I continued on at 18.5 mph. I hurtled over my handlebars, quite confused at this point. My head and right shoulder met the pavement violently, busting some pieces off my helmet.

When I came to, I laid there for a while, taking careful inventory of myself, before a jogger who had heard the wreck ran back to see if I was okay. Turns out the shirt had gradually wiggled free of my grip until it finally caught the tire and shot up into the gap where my front brake pads are located (I’m an idiot).

To appease my mom, I reluctantly went to the emergency room that night. The verdict: a fairly bad separated shoulder. Could’ve been worse, though; I shudder to think of what would have happened had I not been wearing a helmet.

When I returned to central Illinois a couple weeks later, I was still facing an uphill climb of 8 more weeks of rehab. With weightlifting, golf and running clearly not options, I resorted to the only thing I could do with a bum shoulder.

What else? Riding my bike.

I’m not sure what the doctors or PTs would say about this; thus, I never asked. But on my second ride back, I was cruising downhill when I was suddenly bombarded by this loud buzzing. Turns out a black hornet (maybe a wasp?) had somehow miraculously flown into one of the tiny slits in my helmet. That wasp did not want to be in there, and I was in total agreement.

But before I could slow to a stop and throw my helmet off my head, the wasp stung me 4 times on the head and neck. By this point, I felt like Luke Wilson’s character in the movie “Anchorman.” After losing an arm in a fight, he later is leaning over a railing at a zoo, only to have a bear maul off the other arm (don’t worry, it’s funny). Needless to say, he reacts in stunned disbelief.

Then, this Thursday—you thought I was done?—I was run off the road by a pickup truck. As I saw the truck approaching, I saw that the driver was not exactly fixated on the road, so I bailed right into a grass ditch. On Friday, I was biking into Champaign when, in the distance, I saw a pit bull standing defiantly in the middle of the road. Then I noticed his brother was in the front yard as well.

“Hmm,” I quickly thought, “Champaign can wait,” and promptly turned around.

To a person, everyone who’s heard these stories (especially the wasp episode—how unlucky is that?!) reacted by suggesting I give up riding—at least for a while. I’m not sure if they were serious, but I wouldn’t consider quitting anyway.

I have revisited the inspiring story of Nehemiah the past 2 weeks. In it, the Israelites had been unceremoniously kicked out of Jerusalem—and told to stay out—for almost 150 years. All the while, the city walls had laid in ruins, neglected.

Enter Nehemiah. He gathered 45 families or so and they began the tedious, daunting process of rebuilding Jerusalem’s wall, brick by brick. Before long, their efforts attracted the trash talk of some critical onlookers.

“What are these feeble Jews doing?...What they are building—if even a fox climbed up on it, he would break down their wall of stones!”  – Nehemiah 4:2-3

When their taunts don’t work, the naysayers resort to plotting a military attack on the now-weary workers. Nehemiah is unphased, having half the men stand guard while the other half work. And even those who did work were slowed.

“Those who carried materials did their work with one hand and held a weapon in the other… each had his weapon, even when he went for water.”  –Nehemiah 4:17-23

But they forged on. They kept going (by the way, I can relate to the one-armedness!).

On the surface, we’ve been talking about cycling and re-building a wall. But I’m convinced it’s all connected. It all deals with who we are becoming. Each day, we’re either becoming more persistent or less. We’re becoming more like Jesus or less.

We are thirsty for perseverance. Admittedly, my getting right back on my bike does nothing for you. But when I ask God for something, He rarely gives it to me. Instead, He introduces me to situations which would require that character trait.

Maybe that’s because we already have been gifted with it.