Far to Go

What is it about the combination of sweating fiercely and being in the frigid cold that is so enlivening? This week, Oakley and I conducted a beach tour of the South Portland area in Maine. We biked 44 miles and visited seven beaches; Ferry beach, Pine Point Beach, another Ferry Beach, Scarborough Beach, Higgins Beach, Kettle Cove and Crescent Beach.

The temperature was in the high twenties and although we started out clad in hat, gloves and socks, it wasn’t long before we were stripping off layers and relishing the wisps of cold air that found ways to sneak in through our zippers and down our necks to create delicious breezes over our sweaty bellies and chests.

Bike touring seems to be Oakley and my easy, happy place. There is something about finding a cadence in or peddling that works for both of us. It brings out a reciprocal rhythm in our conversation. It is during these times that he most often opens up and talks to me about important teenage matters. Perhaps, it is because he doesn’t need to look at me when he speaks, or perhaps it is because he can always jet away from me if our discourse gets too intense. (Unlike being stuck in a car with me, when I have been said to be similar to a dog with a bone.)

Today his words flowed freely, and Oakley broached all manner of heavy subjects. I huffed and puffed behind him, wondering if 5 or 6 beaches were actually enough for our grand tour while he pattered on about major life decisions. I was attentive and engaged, but man was I tired.

At every beach we stopped to admire the the ferocity of the sea. There had been a storm last night and the surf was kicked up along the coast. Waves were cresting at six to eight feet tall and crashing down into a grey-white froth with rabid intensity. We oohed and ahhed at every one, jumping up and down and popping clementine wedges and granola bars into our mouths during our short breaks; racing to keep cycling before our sweat had time to freeze.

By the time we were finished, my bum muscles ached from fighting the head winds along the coast and Oakley’s eyes were rimmed red, (From the wind, not from crying!) but both of us were smiling.

I feel incredibly lucky to be on this journey with this kid. He makes me want to scream sometimes and keeps me on hyper alert about what the heck he is up to, but who else would get me out here, chasing after them, ears taut, heart open and hope burning? He is why I didn’t stop at five beaches, because if he wants to keep going…so will I.