It was subfreezing. Procrastination brought a midday start for an ambitious ride, 80 miles of gravel and hills. Middle Mountain – a spine that runs along, home to hundreds of acres of forest, just as many stories as trees, and people hwo have lived and died among its folds and peaks – runs to the right when ascending. Cell service is nonexistent until you reach the top. Snow started to fall midway, and my spare tube was filling a tire 3,000 miles away (though I forgot this small detail until a flat had me opening up my saddle bag). Fuming for a minute while mentally coaxing myself to accept responsibility, I walked the mile to the nearest house in search of a phone. A woman traveling through a later decade of life greeted me, her daughter home fighting a years long illness, sat on the worn brown couch. There was clutter in every direction from the threshold, a huge box of a tv flashing news. They had a landline for me to borrow, but with it came the irrefutable insistence I remain dripping centered on the small rug at their door and chat for however long it took to hopefully reach someone and wait for a ride.
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I moved back to the area a couple months ago due to COVID-19. I noticed a neon vest, a woman walking. Every evening that I rolled past at the same time, we shared the road. I pulled a tucked away name from memory and stopped to chat.
This year I learned she’s a mountain woman. Seventy-two and no slowing down. The routes she recommends often have 20 years of growth on them since shes seen them, but I don’t find that out until after attempting the first couple. She has family the length of the mountain. She’s my favorite person to run in to, owner of a mailbox I can leave jelly in. She’s the reason my cleats wear exponentially on a road ride as I walk and chat for a mile or two (from across the road), she’s a supporter and sparker of dreams, she’s youth – she never stops holding her desires in her hands, spilling them from her mouth. Not a day passes where she doesn’t put boots on her feet and make them reality.
Melissa Teeple 