Just Ride

2024

I was trying to finish up a snowflake while Lizard loaded the bikes onto the car. We had been around the block on our bikes a couple of times last month, but hadn't really gone for a good ride in months. Since winter weather set in. I hate taking breaks that long because I know Lizard will have to start all over again from scratch when he gets back on his bike. And the tiniest bit of stress will make him feel like he can't ride.

I should have known something was wrong. It normally doesn't take snowflake-finishing long for him to put the bikes on the rack. When Lizard came back in the house, he was completely stressed out and ready to give up. I told him to sit down and rest for a bit, and I'd finish loading the bikes, not knowing what a mess I was getting myself into. He sat down, and I could tell I was going to have to go into cheerleader mode to get him to go once the bikes were loaded.

The first bike was backwards and completely caught in the rack. In four short months, Lizard had forgotten how to load the bikes. I should have offered to help when he couldn't remember the code to open the garage door. I should have known Parkinson's had stolen more than just the code he set up 15 years ago. The brace for the front wheel was completely tangled in the spokes of the back wheel. I didn't know if I'd be able to safely extract the bike, and I didn't know if the wheel would still be true.

A little more than half an hour later, I had the bikes loaded, and I went back into the house to tell Lizard we could go. He was asleep on the floor. He often lays on the floor to stretch, but he typically puts his exercise mat down first. Weather was expected to move in within the next three hours. We'd vowed to ride every day for the past two weeks, but Lizard has been having great difficulty sleeping at night again, and he's too tired every single day. This was the first day he'd been awake. Until he wasn't...

With another storm expected in a couple of days, I thought we'd better ride while we could; we might not get another chance until the following week. I woke Lizard and told him the bikes were ready.

2024

Nearly an hour later, he was in the car and ready to go. We got to the trailhead, and I took the bikes off the rack. He typically does that, but I didn't want him to stress again. Good thing, too, because he soon was stressed out and ready to give up again because once again, just like each time we've tried to get back into the routine, he couldn't get his leg over his bike.

2023

I tried holding his bike for him and guiding his foot, which was super Parkinson's rigid, over the back tire and onto the pedal. The entire time, he kept saying he was done and wanted to go home. This had happened multiple times last year, and each time, I was able to cheer him into not giving up. It was SO much harder this time. But I finally got him back on his bike, and he was able to pedal upright, with better balance than he has when walking. That also is normal. His bike has been like his wheelchair for the past five years. He often can ride immediately once he's able to get on the bike, as if he'd never been off it. It's just a matter of getting back on the bike.

2024

I suggested we ride around the parking lot first, to make sure he was going to be able to ride, as well as turn around, which he'd have to do if we made it onto the trail. He was extremely slow, but he was riding. Until it came time to turn around. We'd gone barely a mile when he said his legs were gone. Sometimes he can get a second wind, if I can keep him on the bike. But I wasn't able to keep him on his bike. He struggled getting off while I dismounted as quickly as I could to help him. He sat on the ground and said he was done. He said he'd walk his bike back to the car. He didn't want to try getting back on the bike. He already knew he couldn't do it.

2024

A couple of times last year, he was able to get back on his bike by standing on a curb, so he was just a bit higher than the bike, enabling him to get his leg over the bike. I walked both bikes to the closest curb, about a quarter mile away, while he slowly followed behind, the standard Parkinson's gait. Shuffling his feet, arms not moving at all, extremely hunched over. Beaten. Defeated.

"I can't speak anymore," he said when he finally reached me. "I can't read anymore. I can't wrench on my bike anymore. I walk at a snail's pace. And now I can't ride anymore. I can't even get on my bike. My life is over."

It was the most he'd said in weeks, perhaps months, and I could understand every word. He tends to be loud enough for me to hear when he's angry. I told him to turn that fire into determination and get back on that bike. He coughed up all kinds of excuses for the next ten or so minutes. Meanwhile, other cyclists rode by, each pausing and asking if we were okay. I would explain he has Parkinson's and is trying to get back on his bike. Each passing cyclist would compliment Lizard on his determination and progress, but then ride off. I suppose it's uncomfortable to try to help someone when you perhaps don't have the slightest clue how to help and are afraid you might help cause an injury.

I tried the entire afternoon to stay cheerful, loving, patient and believing. I kept telling him I knew he could do it. I would remind him of the times he wouldn't let me give up. Trying to get up the Grand Mesa during Ride the Rockies, when he came up behind me and gently pushed my back, cheering me to "Push! Push! Push!!" The time he had to encourage me across a stream deeper than I was comfortable crossing while descending a 14er... while lightning was chasing us back to our car. The time he coached me up an arch in Rattlesnake Canyon when I had never, ever rock-climbed.

"You can do this!" I kept telling him. "You've got this! I believe in you!"

I silently prayed. Oh, how I prayed. I begged God to please not let this be the end of his cycling. It's his only remaining passion. Please don't let him give up yet. Please help me to get him back on his bike. I know he can do this.

Meanwhile, the temperature had dropped about 15 degrees, and the wind had become pretty furious. Such conditions do NOT help anyone get back on a bike. Lizard finally asked if he could have a hot chocolate with almond milk if he was able to get back on his bike.

2023

"Of course! The perfect reward!!! Now let's try to get back on the bike. I think you can do it if you stand on the curb."

It took a while, but Lizard got back on his bike. And he rode all the way back to the car. And around the parking lot three times before announcing his legs were beginning to come back to life. His legs weren't the only thing that came back to life. He remembered, finally, how much he loves riding his bike. Now it's my job not to let him forget. No matter the weather.

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