Leaving It on the Road

I picked up my head to try to get my bearings. We were supposed to reach our first SAG stop before the thirty-mile mark, and I desperately wanted to see some sign of our progress. I glanced around and saw that everything basically looked the same as it had when we left earlier that morning—endless stretches of darkened New Mexico landscape broken up by an occasional building or grove of trees. Just before I put my head back down, I saw the familiar shape of one of the ABB support vans out of the corner of my eye. My heart leapt and I hoped that meant the SAG stop wasn’t too far ahead.

I was busy wondering who might be sitting in the driver’s seat when suddenly the lead pace rider of our group slowed down significantly. I’d taken my eyes off of the rear wheel in front of me for a split second, but that’s all it takes for a mistake to happen on the road. By the time I realized the other riders were dropping their speed, I was gaining on the rider in front of me and had just enough time to squeeze my brakes before our bikes collided. I narrowly missed him but another accident was waiting to happen. I’d yelled out in surprise and warning as I was slowing down, but my shout was carried away by the wind. I might as well have said nothing for all the warning the rider behind me got. And that rider was my father.

I felt a sharp push into Shiva’s back tire as his bike collided with mine. I wobbled violently. Pulling hard to the left, I barely managed to keep Shiva from careening down the steep desert slope. My father was not as lucky. I watched helplessly as he hit that same drop-off toward the brush and the sand on the right side. Miraculously, he managed to keep his balance and to stay upright as he bounced along the uneven terrain. I watched in horror as he overcorrected his course and cut sharply to the left. With a forceful pull, he tried to wrestle his way back to the middle, but he couldn’t stop. For what seemed like an eternity, he bounded into the middle of the highway, completely exposed to traffic. If any vehicles had been on the road during those horrible few seconds, nothing could have prevented him from being hit.

My father finally made it safely back onto the shoulder, but even as he regained his balance and rejoined the pace line, my body was shaking so hard I could barely pedal. The whole incident had happened in less than thirty seconds, but in that half a minute my actions could have cost my father his life. I was trying so hard to be a proper cyclist, paying such close attention to all of the advice our ride leader and other experienced riders had given me. I’d just started to feel comfortable on the road with all the other guys. Yet I’d almost been the cause of a potentially life-threatening accident, with my own father no less. I couldn’t even turn around to apologize to him, because I couldn’t take my eyes off of the wheel in front of me, and even if I shouted out the words, the wind would swallow them. Knowing my father, he’d probably tell me it was no big deal. He’d say that accidents happen and that I should be more careful in the future. But this was a huge deal to me, and the fact that Mike saw the whole thing from the support van made it even worse.

The image of my father riding helplessly on the highway kept replaying in my mind until I couldn’t stand it another minute. “Screw this,” I growled under my breath. I needed to be far away, alone with my darkening thoughts and not responsible for anyone else’s safety. I checked the highway behind me, saw it was clear, and inched my way onto the road. I immediately met the full assault of the headwinds, but after dropping Shiva’s gears one more time, I sped past the rest of the riders. Jan, Max, and Joe couldn’t even look up because they were straining so hard against the wind.

In minutes, I was alone with just the endless fury of Mother Nature for company, and boy was she doing her best to blow me over. At least in the pace line there had been a few riders buffering the wind. The going had been slow, but it had been bearable. Riding alone under the full pressure of constant 30 mph winds, I was suddenly unsure of my decision to go solo. But my father’s close call streaked across my mind again, and I knew at that moment that I had made a choice. This would be my day—just me and the weights around my neck that I’d been carrying for so long. I had no idea how it would turn out, but I knew the time had come to face my demons head-on.

I reached the first SAG stop, and other than apologizing to my father and letting my teammates know I’d be riding without them, I stayed distant and silent. Jan sensed something was wrong but said only, “You gotta ride your own way, Eric. Do what you need to do,” as he patted my shoulder. I looked at him and nodded in reply, still saying nothing. Instead, I loaded up my pockets with as much food as they would hold, because I had no idea how long it would take me to get to the SAG lunch or if I would even make it there. Judging by how long it had taken me to get to the first stop, this would be a long day.

Pedaling back onto the road, I started feeling calmer, almost soothed by my solitude. But as the miles wore on, the wind’s roars turned into shrieks as the temperature continued to drop with startling speed. Despite my many layers of gear, a numbing cold worked its way through my leggings and the insulated booties encasing my feet until I had no sensation in my lower body. The only way I could tell I was moving forward was by watching Shiva’s wheels turn ever so slowly. I dropped her gears again and again as I plodded through the harsh elements.

The fierce wind cried relentlessly in my ears until I began to hear an equally fierce noise. I didn’t recognize it at first but soon realized it was my own anguished voice. Again and again, I let out screams that were immediately stolen by the storm. All my feelings of anger, sadness, doubt, and confusion boiled dangerously close to the surface, and with a howl from somewhere deep inside me that I didn’t know existed, I felt a crack in my mental dam. Everything I’d been holding inside—questions without answers, uncertainty about my life, the feeling I’d disappointed the people who loved me, the guilt over my actions in college—worked its way out of the dark space of my heart.

I’d spent almost a year of my life digging a gigantic hole, and even though I’d done everything I could to climb out—graduating from the college I loved, trying to get back into good physical shape, and apologizing over and over to my family and friends—a part of me had never left that hole. It was a place of quiet desperation and fear where, despite all my best efforts, I still felt my life slipping through clenched fists.

Then questions started rising up inside of me, roaring more loudly than the wind.

Who was I? Was I White Hat Eric? Was I Black Hat Eric? Did it even matter?

A familiar pain clutched my chest—the same pain I felt that fateful morning in March 2011 when I looked down the path of my life with awful clarity. I recalled the helpless look I’d seen in the mirror every morning as I numbly brushed my teeth. I would ask my reflection, Who are you and where’s Eric? After a while, I was careful not to look anymore, because I didn’t recognize the person staring back at me.

The questions arose with alarming speed and intensity. They grew until they pressed against the back of my teeth before bursting forth as something more raw and primal than the storm. I screamed into the wind, “Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?”