The Journey

“What is your range?” The question confused me at first, but I came to understand his meaning. He wanted to know how far I typically ride. There is no easy answer to that question. I responded, “It depends.” Most things in life are like that, I guess. There are factors to consider. What kind of bike am I riding? A sleek road bike surely covers the miles faster than a burly mountain bike. Traveling down smooth pavement is a lot faster than climbing up a rough, rooty trail. Am I out for a leisurely spin to the coffee shop or looking to spend the whole day on the move? I didn’t have a quick answer, but the question has stuck with me. What is my range?

When I was young, my range started with my neighborhood. All of us kids would cruise around on our bikes, staying within the confines of our suburban boundaries. Our world was one neighborhood big. That is until the day we learned if we cut through a small patch of woods, we could connect to another subdivision, and just like that, our scope doubled in size.

As I grew, so did my perspective. I can clearly remember the first time I rode 50 miles. 100 miles. I prepared for my first century like I was laying siege to a mountain, meticulously planning the route and my stops for food. When I had completed those 100 miles, I thought I had reached the pinnacle of human achievement. Suddenly that 50-mile ride that had seemed so impressive at the time was dwarfed by the scale of this new accomplishment, but was this the peak of what I could do? Spoiler alert: It was not. It’s a simple fact that once you ride 100 miles, there’s always 101. 102. Eventually, you’ll ride around the entire Earth. But then you can simply turn around and do it again. And again. It turns out there is always more.

So far, we’ve only thought about this in two-dimensional terms, but true range exists in 3D. It’s one thing to ride 100 miles on flat terrain. But what about 100 miles on mountain bike trails? I found out that it is a lot harder than doing it on roads. Then, I learned riding 585 miles across the state of Virginia in three days was even harder yet. Could I accumulate the equivalent elevation gain of climbing Mount Everest (29,032 feet) in one ride? Yes, and more. What about climbing one million feet in a year? That will match you to roughly the altitude that the International Space Station orbits Earth. That seemed like an impossible feat until I did it. I know a guy in Alabama who regularly climbs two or three million feet every year. There is always more.

The beauty of all this is that each individual’s capacity is unique. We all have our own perspectives, our lines drawn in the sand that define what we consider “hard.” Those perspectives shift as we push beyond what we previously thought were our limits. If it’s your first time riding a bike, 10 miles will probably seem daunting. For you, at that moment, it is! One person’s struggle isn’t minimized just because it appears smaller than someone else’s. Hard is hard, even if our definitions differ. We would do well to remember that.

You might think this is where I will make my conclusion, perhaps with an inspiring quote and a call to action for you to get out there, to push your limits, find your own personal range and then extend it. I certainly advocate for everyone to do just that, but I have a confession to make. I have misled you, dear reader. There is a fourth dimension to this idea of range that I haven’t touched on, and I think it’s the most important. Not to minimize the significance of physical challenge, but I’ve come to realize that there is a lot more to range than just the numbers. To borrow a well-worn cliché: It’s not the destination; it’s the journey. Throughout this process of expanding my own limits, I have seen countless sunrises and sunset that took my breath away. I have ridden through swarms of fireflies at night, seen the Northern Lights, shooting stars, a solar eclipse, and multitudes of other natural wonders. I’ve experienced the full scope of human emotions, cried tears of joy and tears of pain. I have met more different types of people than I thought existed, and I have fostered deep, meaningful friendships through bikes, connecting in ways that would not have been possible without all that pedaling. I’ve even found a way to make a living out of helping people push their own boundaries on bicycles. And now I get to see my own children learn to ride. I watch them struggle through challenges, discover things about themselves and the world around them, and create their own friendships through riding. All of these things mean so much more to me than the number of miles traveled or feet in elevation gained I could use to define my riding.

What is my range? Frankly, it’s limitless. Sure, there is actually a physical limit to how many miles I can ride in an hour, a day or a week, and if you want, we can have that discussion. I’m happy to geek out with you on numbers and data, but that’s the least interesting part of the story. For me, my range is defined by my ability to push myself, to rise to a challenge, even if it means failing. My range is the breadth of my personal growth, my connection with the world around me and the people I meet in it, and my capacity to absorb those things into a life of meaning and purpose. A life of fulfillment and wonder. A life that is lived. 

So, I’ll ask you: What is your range?