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17 miles up. 5600 feet. It was cold.

Running

At least I thought I had a chance to change her mind. Perhaps only a small chance. But it was worth a try and the only thing I could think of was to run.

It was 1988 after I crashed my car with Jessica inside during the few weeks before she would lose her life in a different crash with a different boyfriend.

For me running had always been my sport. I had heaped my hopes on running as if it could somehow cure all that was around me. In many ways, running did just that. What if it could do more than cure? What if I could run and literally turn things around? I do not know why I ever thought girls would be impressed by running. Or winning races. But for some ridiculous reason, that's what I believed.

It was dark. It was November. It was raining. Starting in downtown Olympia, I began running out to Evergreen, going the back way along the bay and a road we knew as French loop. Being a runner at Evergreen gave me a somewhat skewed sense of my own ability. At the time, I held the school record for the 5,000 meters and was the current champion of the annual mud run across Mud Bay. These were tiny achievements in a small world where most students preferred to get foot massages or go hiking than do any serious running. I was only recently reminded of the record when I read that it had finally been broken after more years than I care to admit.

I remember running out to Evergreen that night as hard as I could. But nothing would change Jessica's mind. Besides it was silly to believe anything could. She was just starting out at the school and I had already graduated. I needed to get on with my life. What was I thinking?

I only remember running out there that night and talking to her, dripping wet from the rain. I vaguely recall jogging back but I can't be sure. I do know that was the last I saw of her.

These days I look back on that time almost to console myself in current circumstances -- as if to substitute flash memory for the present. Today though, I might still look to running and all that it represents. I can still wear the running shorts and the Nikes "made to the exact specifications of champion athletes around the world." I can still pretend that with running I might turn things around, recover, and revive the true love that is my family.

Perhaps that is a foolishly romantic notion. As a kid, how did I ever come to believe that girls cared about running? I don't the answer to that but I can still believe if I want to.

Friends Wedding

Of course "going to church" in Second Life still seems more amusing than completely serious. If it were the opposite, I'd worry I was entering into some sort of Matrix lifestyle. I think what is interesting about Second Life is that it does provide an opportunity to "worship" without actually having to go long distances -- or any distance -- to a physical church. In my case, I now live a little further out of Seattle than I might have thought possible while still claiming to live in the "Seattle area". 

Anyhow, here is the text of the query for Friends Meeting for Worship: October 3, 2009

Centering Thoughts

"We get most upset with those we love the most because they are close to us and we know that they are aware of our weaknesses…If only we could learn to live with our inadequacies, our frailties, our vulnerabilities, we would not need to try so hard to push away those who really know us…We can love others with their failure when we stop despising ourselves because of our failures."

Archbishop Desmond Tutu

Reflect on these words of Desmond Tutu and how they may reveal truth to you about your relationship to God and to other people.

Silence

I enjoyed listening to this 30 minute radio piece about silence, part of a bbc series called "Something Understood." It touched on how silence can rejuvenate and how it can hurt. The intro:

Silence is something many of us crave in a world full of clamour, but, as Fergal Keane discovers, it means much more than the mere absence of noise.

View from bridge

I was unable to attend the Quaker retreat this weekend so I decided to return to Second Life where a meeting for worship is held every Saturday at 10 Pacific Time. It has been several months since I last logged on to this colorful world. My avatar looks like he is just fine, sporting the same haircut, same cool jeans, and same dark red shoes. He seems to be able to handle pretty much anything and come through unscathed. Next, perhaps he will be speaking to me like Humphrey Bogart in "Play it Again Sam", that wonderful Woody Allen movie from 1972. Bogart gives dating advice to Woody Allen who suddenly finds himself single.

Come to think of it, isn't my avatar supposed to be me? Isn't that point of virtual worlds? To speak of my avatar in the third person is surely heresy. If only fine clothes were as affordable in real life as there are in Second Life...

Regardless of those questions however, it felt good to be back in the Quaker Meeting house on Cedar Island in SL. I admit it may seem odd to attend church in Second Life, especially a Quaker Meeting featuring silent worship. People can still "speak out of the silence" via the local chat IM feature. Today's theme centered around trust and I shared some of the challenges I have faced around the frayed trust with some of my longtime Quaker friends. And like many real life meetings for worship, this one began with a query:

Centering Thoughts for Spetember 26: Friends Meeting for Worship

Reflect today on the intersection of a lifetime of preparation, a willingness to trust our Present Teacher, and the ongoing circumstances and needs that confront us.

Each of us brings our lifetime of learning, knowledge, and competence with us to each day, each person and each new circumstance we face.  Some of us are more confident than others in believing that we are capable to meet these circumstances.

While we may or may not have confidence in ourselves, each of us has the potential to trust.  The question is, to what or whom do we put our trust in?  Friends have long held that Christ, our Present Teacher is inwardly available and knowable by each who seek.  Are we able to trust for that which we need in this moment?

For, there are surely no lack of needs to attend to and no lack of people to befriend.  There is no lack of opportunity for partnering in good work and for serving and loving. 

Let us look for the places where our preparation, along with our trust meet in service and love, in the light!

Here is the video I took when I dropped by my old home on 28th Ave South, where my daughter Lucy was born on December 2003.

This was as close as I could get to Lucy, remembering the time and place she came into this world. I had just finished the memorial ride for the cyclist who was killed when I dropped by my old home last Sunday.

The new owners had a baby of their own and were kind enough to show me how they had expanded the deck, put in a hot tub, and terraced the back yard.

It was hard to see our old bedroom where Lucy was born. But I felt better by doing so. Then I rode back to my car on the south end of Lake Washington.

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Jose

It was probably for the best that I did not attend memorial services for Jose Hernando. Or that I did not arrive in time to witness his father speak to the bicyclists gathered in his memory Sunday.  I even missed the moment of silence at the very spot where Jose was struck down inexplicably by an oncoming van along Lake Washington Boulevard last month.  I wanted to be there. I was just running late.

Not knowing Jose personally, I only know about what I have read and heard. He was 44. He was married. He was the father of two children. He had ridden his bicycle for years.  

One member of our team described how he first met Jose back in 1990 when he played in the local band "First Thought" at Rock Candy, the famed Grunge venue.

“Over the past few years I would see him riding and we would talk about the old days and the music scene,” my teammate said. “He was currently dealing with all the same issues we do -- trying to train while working and raising two young girls.”  

I remember hanging out at Rock Candy back in 1990 even if I only really went there a few times. I was not a regular.  But like Jose, I would become a regular in a different role: changing diapers, trying to race my bike, and thrive at a big company.

And like many of us on local teams, we ride, race, and reach for something more – all on faith that it will be safe.  But like mountain climbers, we know the risks.

So I joined the memorial ride as it progressed around the south end of Lake Washington Sunday.  It was a sobering sight to see riders from multiple teams bicycling toward me as I rode in from the south to meet them.  

When the memorial event finished on Martin Luther King Blvd, I caught up to one rider whose efforts reflected a dedication that stands out even among the local cycling supremos.  In the morning, she won near top honors at a half ironman triathlon.  In the afternoon, she came out for her teammate.

It was only because I was mopping my kitchen floor that I started my ride so late. The floor was dirty -- even for me. I had to clean it. Then it was already well after 5 p.m. before I started out of town on my bicycle, listening appropriately enough to Plainsong by the Cure. There is something triumphant and inspiring about this Cure song even though the lyrics are sort of haunting. It evokes feelings of rising out and up.

"i think it's dark and it looks like rain" you said
"and the wind is blowing like it's the end of the
world" you said "and it's so cold it's like the
cold if you were dead" and then you smiled for
a second.

As a YouTube commenter described this song, "Robert Smith's lyrics and vocals for this are sublime; the band did its best work here, no question."

I began riding up Mud Mountain Dam, which is a longer but more scenic way of getting up into the foothills toward Mount Rainier. Soon I was on the main highway cycling up to the little town of Greenwater, home of a very cool 1940s era tavern described as an "old country mountain bar" by Scott, the lead cook. He told me all about the history of the town.

But I was supposed to turn around at Greenwater since it was getting late. But I had to I ask how far it was to the turnoff road that rises up to Crystal Mountain. It was only about 11 miles.

I was not going to turn around. The evening was too amazing to do that. But there was not enough time really. I did not care.

Riding along by the river was simply breathtaking and I grew more and more inspired as I rode higher toward Mount Rainier. Then I arrived at the turnoff road to Crystal, the route of the upcoming Washington State Hill Climb Championship that I will be entering. By now it was getting very late, the sun was still out but only barely.

I could not pass up the chance to ride up to the base. It did not matter to me that the daylgiht hours were about to run out.

And that Cure song was still ringing in my head:

"i think i'm old and i'm in pain" you said
"and it's all running out like it's the end of the
world" you said "and it's so cold it's like the
cold if you were dead" and then you smiled for
a second

Riding my Specialized Transition TT bike, I took to the hill determined to see what I could do. How hard could I go and not blow up? I quickly remembered how hard the hill was. Soon my heart rate exceeded 171 beats per minute, which is about my "lactate threshold". That is a fancy way of saying "your legs are tired now". I found myself needing to back off ever so slightly at that rate.

I kept pushing and came to that cool flat section where I just let it fly. I was moving now. Then the road pitched up one last time. I dug down and then I could see the lodge. And then I managed to put in one last push. I exceeded my lactate threshold but was able to hold it knowing I was almost at the summit.

I had arrived at the base of Crystal but I knew I was also in a little trouble as darkness was about to fall. I had two rear flashing lights I could use but only a small emergency front light.  I was out of water so I followed the signs to a restaurant/hotel.

My heart was pounding as I entered the lobby. I did not think anyone was there. Then I noticed her. She looked like owned the place sitting on the leather couch using her laptop. I said sorry in a soft way as I walked toward the bathroom. I filled my water bottle and knew I had to get back out on the road quickly so I could at least descend from Crystal when there was still a little daylight left.

Yet as I was leaving I could not help but speak to her and thank her for letting me get water. Then we started talking a little bit and soon a whole party of hikers came in. One of them asked me about my bike, the cool TT bike with the crazy handlebars and aero look.

Then we all started talking about all sorts of stuff like how venture capitalists make a lot of money, cycling trails, hiking, mountain biking. Eventually enough time had past and I knew that making the trip back would be very very hard. All I had was a short sleeve Garage jersey, not even any arm warmers. I had my license and $10.

I had not planned this very well. But that did not matter.

This ride was all about passion over planning. It was about the desire to reach the summit regardless of the facts on the ground.

I did not care how I would get back. I knew I could eventually make it back somehow. I would not have been able to take much advantage of the downhill sections because I would have had to ride slow to stay safe within the limited range of my little light. I would have had to keep going because it was cold by nightfall. It would have been a tad scary, one of the tougher rides I might attempt and would have ended up being a total of more than 80 miles.

But there was another option. The woman who looked like she owned the place offered to help me. Keri stepped in and saved me.

And the final lyrics of The Cure's Plainsong sum it up well.

sometimes you make me feel like i'm living at
the edge of the world like i'm living at the edge
of the world "it's just the way i smile" you said

Yes, I felt as if I had ridden to the edge of the world. And that is exactly what I needed to do in order to achieve one very simple but very difficult task: Ride out of the fire! Ride up and out! I have my bicycle and I will ride it to the edge of the world. No one can take that from me...

Jessica was simply a highly impressive young woman who was struck down far too early in life. Recalling her story reminds me of her potential and what she wanted to achieve in her life. She desired to do public service. She had high standards about "doing the right thing" no matter what. She had big ambitions that she might well have achieved.

Drawing on my memory of her helps me with two things. First, it helps me be thankful for what I have in life today. We are only here by the grace of God and we might go at any time much like a fellow bicycle racer was killed recently on Lake Washington Blvd. He was 44 and left behind his wife and two daughters. Jose had no chance against an oncoming van down near Seward Park. Like Jose, Jessica had no chance when she was asleep in the back of a van that skidded off the road near Forks on the Olympic Peninsula all those years ago.

Second, remembering Jessica brings me to focus on the untapped potential in me. The unspoken promise. The chance to make good. To stand for something greater than myself. To put myself on the line for the sake of others. To speak out even if that puts myself in harm's way.

I am not there yet. But I know God is not finished with me yet. I am just getting started. And I pray that God will watch out for me. I pray that God will smile down on me while I ride my bicycle up and down the foothills of Mount Rainier. I pray that God will show me how to learn to become stronger from the challenges I face in my life today, tomorrow, and in the days ahead.  

I have met many people who have helped me lately. I open my heart up to others in my church and the larger multiifaith communities who might guide me as well.

After first writing about Jessica, I felt at that time that I would only write about Jessica on this blog from now on. I felt that if I were to write something more trivial alongside such posts that it would somehow dishonor her memory. Or that it would break the flow of my story about her. There are a few pieces of the story left to tell and I will tell it in due course. I realize now that such a restriction on this blog need not be self imposed any longer.

And of course, I would like it to be known that recalling Jessica should in no way be interpreted that I could not be close to anyone in my life today.

I would have only been a small part of her life. That is all I saw myself doing when she was alive.  

All Jessica had to say was "Stop, John, Stop" and I knew I was in a free fall, a tailspin. I was looking straight at her and her hair as I kept driving that red GTI through the parkway intersection at Evergreen. She said stop again, I think.

We had just pulled out of Evergreen on our way to Seattle when she told me she would rather not date me anymore. Yes, she was breaking up with me. This was late in the fall of 1988.

Of course, I fell into a tailspin, which was not good because I was driving my prized red VW GTI.

I did not see the car coming.

In an instant, we were sideswiped. That super cool right rear wheel took most of the impact. The GTI spun around 180 degrees. I remember the impact like it was a rollercoaster ride on steroids. I remember Jessica's long curly hair flowing all around. I stumbled out of my car in shock.

I made sure Jessica was okay and she was. Thank God!

We both got out and I looked fornlornly at the older couple who got out of their car. They looked perplexed as if to say, "Why did you drive straight into the intersection?"

I just looked looked at them. I looked down. I was in shock.

Then Jessica and I started walking back to "A" Dorm on the Evergreen campus. That was an amazing walk really. She reassured me that everything would be okay. She smiled at me. She told me that I would write about this someday. Jessica, you were right. I am writing about it sweetheart. May you continue to rest in peace.

In her next car accident, Jessica would be killed. She was with her new boyfriend. Between my accident and her next one i did everything I could to win her back. That is why I remember saying and thinking that "I did everything I could to help her and I could not help her."

If i could have hung on a little longer, she might have made it through that first semester at Evergreen.

And I would like everyone to know one simple thing that might help explain recent events and the hopes and passion that I hold so dear:

"Her dream is my dream. Her promise is my promise. I promise. "