Bicycling Across America’s Great Northwest: When Fear and Faith Collide

The first day of riding had a bit of everything. By the first hour, I had to deal with major concern number one – crossing the Columbia River from Oregon to Washington via the four-mile Astoria-Megler Bridge. This is the longest, continuous, truss bridge in North America, with a clearance of nearly 200 feet at its highest point. Prior to the trip, I had visions of hurricane force winds sneering at me as they would toss me and my bicycle from the bridge into the river below, effectively ending my cycling plans prematurely. Unfortunately, before I would even start to cross the bridge, I had to climb a steep, winding, narrow entrance ramp. There was just enough traffic and wind to convince me to dismount, and walk the final 50 feet to the bridge proper. Upon reaching the “summit”, I saw multiple “Road Construction” signs. I nervously greeted the gentleman controlling traffic flow, and gladly offered to walk my bike across the bridge and through the construction. He told me that bikes and traffic were not allowed on the bridge together in the construction area. He would need to stop all traffic until I was safely through. The wind was light, and I never felt the need to walk again for the duration of the bridge crossing. Within the first hour of the trip, God had already provided an amazing answer to a primary prayer concern!
Soon after crossing, I met others who provided positive reviews of the road conditions relative to cycling, as well as cyclists providing additional encouragement. My first encounter was a guy who had previously cycled the perimeter of New Zealand, wearing three pair of underwear to cushion his rear. I wasn’t sure why he volunteered this information, but rest assured, it wasn’t because I had asked him. Two hours later, I came across two young women, probably in their mid-twenties, riding from Vancouver to Mexico, eating hard-boiled eggs during a break in the shade on the side of the road. When I asked them how long their trip would take, they sort of looked at each other quizzically before responding, “Probably about three months – we’re just riding.” I was encouraged by these riders, but mostly because I actually had a plan, and was wearing officially-padded, cycling shorts.
The only major downside to the first day’s ride occurred following the recommended “bicycle route” to Raymond, Washington – a four-mile shortcut avoiding the longer ride around the coast. The shortcut turned into a sharply angled road, full of steep hills, rocks, and what I could best characterize as a “dry quicksand,” riding surface. After several dismounts to walk up and down several sections, I emerged from this shortcut an hour later, with the naive belief I would not make another mistake like this for the duration of the trip.
Eventually, I enjoyed a splendid, home-style meal at Shelia’s Korner Kitchen and a follow-up pizza at an outdoor pizza oven across the street from my hotel. My morning uneasiness had dissolved into a mostly successful ride with an ever increasing appetite. I chatted with the young man making my pizza as I waited. He was the owner of the outdoor, wood-fired pizza oven; making pizzas part-time, in addition to driving truck for the blossoming marijuana industry in Washington. He and another young man carried on a conversation (apparently for my benefit) about the propensity for car-bicycle accidents in the area, including a recent fatality. I asked pizza guy about the nearby Ducati motorcycle, parked close enough to suspect it was his. He confirmed my suspicions, stating it was only a few weeks old. He had fallen asleep while riding his previous bike, crashed, and nearly died. I told the two gents I felt safer riding a bicycle while awake, rather than riding a motorcycle while falling asleep. They reluctantly agreed, wished me well, and I returned to my hotel room, pizza in hand. The pizza disappeared easily into my digestive tract, and soon after, I was ready to fall asleep.
Reflecting back on the day’s ride, instead of focusing on the “valley of the shadow of death” prayer of protection, I was instead reminded of the first words of the 23rd Psalm – “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” The daily rides during this trip may not always be what I want – a smooth, downhill road with a brisk tailwind, free of all manner of wildlife and traffic. However, God would provide what I would need…and I would not “want”. How often do we pray for God’s help, focusing on the “valley of the shadow of death,” not really believing He can truly provide? God wants us to have faith in His ability to answer our prayers, and then live victoriously…and enjoy the day’s ride!