There’s a metaphor I’m sure for climbing on bikes with your brother and embarking on a three-day ride through the Allegheny Mountains and along the rivers of the Laurel Highlands.
But I don’t know what it is. I do know: There are long periods of silence and solitude when your mind drifts and rummages through old memories triggered by something new or something he says or his laugh or a gesture he makes that reminds you of the endless days when time nearly stood still and your plans were little more than questions of whether you had enough energy to wrestle one more time before going to bed. Then there are those serious moments of sharing aspirations and anxieties, laying bare questions you’d share with few others, if anyone else. It’s been so long since we last settled in to this kind of time together with so few distractions and immediate responsibilities. The miles melt by with each pedal stroke, with every inch of gravel crunching beneath the bikes’ tires, and every click signaling a shifting gear that eases and ensures the next ascent.
The first few minutes of the ride disappear into the grind of 150 miles and three days of pedaling through Pittsburgh, Connellsville, Ohiopyle, and Meyersdale, before concluding in Cumberland. Day 2 ends in exhaustion, rolling down into Meyersdale just past dusk, after a steady 30-mile climb that tested our resolve and drained our tanks. But we knew Day 3 would start with crossing the Eastern Continental Divide and then the Mason Dixon Line before gently meandering steadily downward and eventually delivering us to mile marker zero and the end of our journey. If either of us were religious we would have likely looked at each other at the end and quoted Psalms 133:1: ‘How good and pleasant it is when brothers live together in unity.’
Spectacular, Rich
Amen 🙏