Why a Mother and Teenage Son Chose Adventure Over Fear
Discover why a mother and teenage son chose adventure over fear and what their cross-country ride reveals about love in this excerpt from Changing Gears.
In this excerpt from Changing Gears by Leah Day, we see why a mother and teenage son chose adventure over fear and pedaled into the unknown. What began as a cross-country bike trip became something deeper—a leap of faith in love, in family, and in the goodness of strangers. As anxieties swirl and the world feels uncertain, this story invites us to ask a brave question: If life is happening now, what are we waiting for?
Introduction
May 22, 2020
It is all about expanding and contracting. Everything does it. In and out, then in again. From small to large to small. From seed to flower to seed. The speck of an egg swelling to rounded middle age and then reduced to a speck of dust. The Universe, for God’s sake. Sound. Everything. It all comes and goes, grows and shrinks, and we dance between it all.
When Oakley and I pedaled across the United States, the world was big and bright, and the land was laid out before us, calling and limitless. The sun softened our backs and turned the prairie grasses golden and red. The mountains reached up into the sky, often spiking up through the clouds. The waters of the rivers were startlingly cold, the midday heat oppressively hot, making us run for shelter. Canyons were tight and maze-like, and farm fields extended beyond the horizon. People opened homes, churches, fire stations, and city parks with welcoming warmth.
“Come in,” they said.
“Rest.”
“You are safe here.”
The world was like an open flower.
In 2020 the coronavirus caused that flower to contract. It was time to stay closer to home and shrink our social circles until the pandemic passed.
On good days, I could understand that there was beauty in this.
As Walt Whitman says in Leaves of Grass, “The narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery.”
It seemed the time to find adventure in the little things and to be amazed by the everyday. I admit that it was hard for me and for Oakley. We are thrill seekers and struggle with focus and stillness but, nonetheless, I have found that with all this quiet it was easier to look inward. And when I did, I saw that I am not just full of blood and guts, but full of all the adventures I have had and the people I have known and the beauty I have seen. It is still there, right beneath the skin.
In our story you will hear the crickets in Idaho, which were as big as our thumbs and covered the road in a feeding frenzy, cannibalizing each other, jumping up against our legs, and crunching under our tires as we careened down hills and mountain passes.
You will feel what it is like to bed down under and beside fire trucks on scrubbed-clean cement floors while reading out loud and being read to, filled with delight to be safe from the cold rain thundering outside because of the trust that a small town had in us to stay unwatched with their millions of dollars of equipment.
You will understand what it was like to hide from the wind behind the scarce buildings on the Colorado plains while eating Pringles and cheese sticks, so tired and sweaty that we could not speak as we slowly notice prairie dog noses popping up out of holes all around. One barked, and then another. Then they turned into a bunch of chatterboxes, spreading the news that there were two sweating cyclists sitting right smack in their yard. And still we just sat.
And you may feel the tautness of a relationship between a mother and a teenage son that is full of challenge and reward, frustration and love, and a growing bond that will hopefully help us navigate the way through much more than a bike ride.
I know everything will open up again and that there are endless adventures ahead of us—all of us.
This contraction will expand. Until then, join us.
Should We Do This Crazy Thing?
May 10, 2019
Peaks Island, Maine
My sheets twist around me like a straitjacket of worry as I struggle to get comfortable in my bed. It is 3:20 a.m. I have gotten up to get some water, I have gotten up to go pee, and I have gotten up to heat up some warm milk with cinnamon and a shot of whiskey. That always does the trick, but not tonight. Now that I have thrown my hat over the proverbial wall and shouted out to all my friends and relations and even strangers on social media about this freaking bike trip, I am beside myself. It is as if I am staring at a list of all my anxieties printed on my bedroom ceiling that must be read over and over while everyone else in the house sleeps:
1. Oakley is going to get hit by a truck.
Really. I fear that long, exhausting, boring afternoon pedaling behind Oakley and seeing him wander across the white line into traffic over and over. My heart in my throat, tension throughout my body, I yell at him repeatedly, “Move over!” until I just can’t say it again, and a distracted truck driver comes up behind us.
2. I must leave Twain for three months.
I have never been apart from him for more than ten days over the last twenty-five years, and I am pretty used to him. I am lucky—I really love him. I worry about either of us changing while we’re apart and having a hard time fitting together again.
3. I must leave my other children.
They are all young adults ranging from nineteen to twenty-three. They are ready to leave me, but me leave them? It feels unmotherly.
4. I must leave Cricket, my dog.
She is really important to me. She comes to work with me every day. Will she remember me? Twain and I can FaceTime, but…Cricket?
5. I will spend all of our money, and then some.
This is going to cost a ton. I am doing my best to get funding, but life is expensive. I won’t be working. We have three kids in college, and my husband and I still owe for our own student debt. We have a house, a car, loans…yadda, yadda. My husband is really supportive and believes that it will work out, but I have my doubts. Oakley and I will be building our bikes from recycled parts; we will beg and borrow as much gear as we can. I hope to get sponsorships and maybe even write a book. We will camp and cook our own food. But I believe the trip will cost us close to eight thousand, and I will lose about ten thousand by not working for three months. It is pure fantasy that we can afford this.
Over and over, I review this list, but here’s the thing: How can we not go?
Life is happening now.
This world is not terribly full of hope these days, and I want to commit to an engaging life and all its wonders. I want to invest in Oakley. I want to trust in the goodness of people and not succumb to that idea that I should play it safe until my clock runs out.
Follow Along as Mother and Teenage Son Rediscover Life and Love
Changing Gears
Excerpt from Changing Gears by Leah Day.