ESL Basics

I'm back in Kentucky after one of the most adventurous, life-shaping, poetic months of my life. Nothing could have prepared me for how enamored I would become with traveling on my own and seeing the world. 

It's almost as if I was given new eyes to see my surroundings, and new courage to reach out and touch them. I'm grateful, not just because I was able to see new places, but because I interacted with them and was changed by them.

Today, I was back at church in Campbellsville, losing myself in worship and the goodness of God. And the images that kept replaying in my mind while the music danced around me were of Michelangelo's paintings and sculptures that depicted Jesus. I was again stirred over "The Creation of Man", and left speechless by "The Last Judgment". I remembered the pieta that Michelangelo carved for his own graveside - how limp the Christ was in his mother's arms. Art has reshaped the way I look at God. 

As for now, my trip is over. It has given me new vigor to be a creative teacher, a faithful friend, and a curious student of people and cultures. Ciao!  

I consider myself to be a positive, go-with-the-flow kind of person. If something goes terribly wrong, you won't usually see me panic. I'm the one passing out punchlines. At times, I can be a bit dramatic, but only when the moment calls for poetry. Overall, I'm flexible. Sensible. Light-hearted.

Not today. 

Today was one of those days where no amount of laid-back mentality was going to work for me. I started out so well, you see. My cousin Jennifer, her husband Nick, and I were going cycling with a couple, Peter and Christel, from Nick's work. "It's a festival," they said. "Everyone, young and old, bikes along the Rhine and takes in the castle views. They close down all the streets, and everyone has a blast. It'll be great. We'll bike for a bit and eat some lunch."

"Great!" I said. I'm always game for something new. Nevermind that the last time I biked, I threw out my back. "That was five years ago," I reassured myself. "I'm in better shape now, and I used to be a college athlete, for heaven's sake. Who cares if I haven't mounted a bike in five years? There's a reason we have that expression, 'It's like riding a bike.' It's like riding a bike." 

Ah, naïveté. I started to sense I was in big trouble when Christel outfitted me in padded cycling shorts, riding gloves, and a streamlined helmet. "Why would I need these?" I wondered. "I never needed them as a kid, and I circled my street (no-handed) on my pink and green 5-speed for hours." Despite this pretty significant warning sign, I went along with it. I thought, "Sure. I'll wear the gear. Then I'll look like a real cyclist, and it'll make for comical pictures." 

The next red flag flew when I actually saddled up on the bike. The only comparison I can make is that it was like a newborn giraffe on roller blades. The center of gravity was just a bit off.

Some serious nerves set in at this point. We started out by taking a ferry across the Rhine, and then the laser-sharp concentration began. I had to focus on every motion, or I would collide with small children or elderly couples, all travelling at twice my speed. The fitness of cycling was not the issue for me. Rather, it was the imminent danger I was putting the other cyclists in because of a decade of not riding bikes. 

Another huge concern became the unnatural and uncomfortable position my bicycle was putting me in. The group had designated the largest bike for me, because I stand a little taller than most. The seat was able to be raised up to a perch-like height, but the handle bars refused to follow suit. The result was my lanky body in racing position. Unfortunately, I had neither stamina nor blood doping to keep me in racing form for the amount of mileage I was unknowingly about to attempt. 

Strike three was the style of bike I was riding: a mountain bike, ready to conquer roots, streams and loose gravel. Fortunately for my health and well-being, there were no roots or loose gravel for me to get tangled up in on this route. However, mountain bikes cause their riders to work quite a bit harder on solid ground in order to keep up with the thousand-dollar, streamlined road bikes my companions were flying.

I was a nervous wreck, stiff, and sweating a little too heavily to consider myself to be attending a "festival", as it had been previously billed. Thankfully, some relief came after about 1 kilometer. 

"Psssssssssssst!" Jennifer's tire deflated to the ground. The five of us pulled to the side and looked at the pancake-flat tire. After a few failed attempts to fix the tire, I offered to the group, "You guys go on. Really, it's okay. I'll do some sight-seeing around this cute little town. You can use my bike and have the time of your lives." It was genius. They would get their cycling fix, and I could save face. The plan would have gone into action, save for Peter's ingenuity with twisty ties and bike tire tubes.

We were on the bikes in no time, so I decided to focus on the positive. The Rhine was beautiful, really. The river was wide and commanding, and cut through vineyards and castles on cliffs. The view was spectacular, and after about 45 minutes of learning how to ride again, I managed to pull my Canon Powershot from my bag and snap a few diagonally-horizoned pictures.

I truly enjoyed myself for a little stretch of pathway. I did start to notice, however, an increasing discomfort in my seat.  Really, it was more like lightning bolts of pain. If someone had planted a cactus under me, it may have been less painful. 

"Wow! We're doing great!" I exclaimed to Christel. "How far do you think we've travelled so far?" I was fishing for some reprieve. 

"Ach, only about 10 kilometers. We'll stop for lunch a bit down the road." 

"Oh, great. Yeah...food. Sounds good," I garbled. I knew very well that every time I pedaled, that was one pedal more I was going to have to go on the way back. This was not a circuit. It was a down and back route. Every time we passed a restaurant or bratwurst stand, I gazed longingly at their comfortable chairs. 

Finally, we found it. The perfect little German restaurant in the perfect little German town -- 16 kilometers away from our cozy vehicles. Though the food looked good on our neighbors' plates, I couldn't help but notice we chose a restaurant with wooden benches for seating. I laid across one of them, breaking a serious norm in the land of decorum. No worries, I've gotten used to people staring while on my trip.

After a good lunch and some boiling hot water out of our water bottles, we started heading back. The trip back started out really rocky for me, as my back and butt were revolting against me. I found myself seriously considering a minor bike wreck, just so I wouldn't have to finish the route. 

Sanity got the best of me though. Jennifer switched out her bike with me, and instantly, life was dreamy. I was flying high on the road bike, suddenly understanding why people enjoy the sport of cycling. The seat was soft as bubble gum, like a cross between a sofa and a cloud.    

Within no time, we were back at the cars, and a sense of pain and accomplishment swept over my tired body. After cold water and the promise that the trip was over, I found my light-hearted self again. Somehow I had lost her along the 30 kilometers, but she was back, dancing her way to comfort. My bike and I both breathed a sigh of relief.