Pedal Hard

     Sitting over at my old apartment on a bean bag, watching Tour de France. There were a bunch of bikers jockeying for position and pedaling hard. These guys RIDE their bikes. The talk was turned to the wrecks which had happened this year. Former champions were already out of the race. Watching road biking is sometimes about like watching paint dry. I  enjoy road biking as much as the next, but watching it isn't exactly the most exciting thing in the world. 

     I hung around and talked to my old roommate Joe about girls. Then we wanted to go do something. I had a problem. I had to get my bike back to my apartment before dark. I have no reflectors on my bike, so any reflectors would have had to have been on my shoes or my backpack, if they even had reflectors. I had no headlight. I was wearing jeans and a green shirt.

     Headphones in and helmet on, rock battering my eardrums I took off and then turned around. As the wind hit my eyes my vision was blurred and took a while to clear. I pedaled and maneuvered my way through town back toward my apartment. I reveled in the exertion on my legs and the speed as I rolled on my hard tail.

     I am not a totally reckless rider, but I take my risks sometimes. I will take corners quickly, ride with traffic, and jump around at times. I am normally pretty conscious of my limits and the traffic around me. When riding you have to ride for you and drive for everyone around you.

    Tonight I looked up some statistics about cycling. According to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, Traffic Safety Facts, "In 2012, 4,743 pedestrians and 726 bicyclists were killed in crashes with motor vehicles (National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, Traffic Safety Facts)." I found this information at this site. http://www.pedbikeinfo.org/data/factsheet_crash.cfm#No1

     Why wasn't I one of them? Well one big reason is that in 2012 I was out of the country. One of my friends during this time said that he didn't want to become a statistic. I don't really want to become a statistic either. What kept me from being one in 2010, when my dad and I took our epic bike trip up into Canada and back down? We certainly had the opportunity to become roadkill more than once. Riding through a canyon in the rain with log-trucks running up your back isn't exactly a party. Hence the miracle of everyday life. Heavenly Father looks down on us.

     Pedal hard! Live life!

To all the shotgun jokesters of the world.

     I would first like to preface this post. I myself am guilty of making the jokes about needing a big stick because my sisters were/are/are going to be pretty. Also, someday I will probably have a daughter and someone should show me this post.
    Today I saw a picture of a beautiful girl on Facebook. There were comments on the picture about how pretty she was. How great! People can build up someone's confidence a great deal by telling them that they look good. Then it was almost ruined for me by two posts. Dad, Mr. Man came in and joked about how he had a gun and other "intimidating" characteristics he had. He's probably a great person, but obviously it has been on my mind for a while now. Could it be because I have had a bad experience with someone's dad making similar jokes? Probably.
     I have something to say to any dad who does anything like this! If you want to gain my respect it's not going to be by cleaning your gun as I walk in the door. I'm from Idaho. Almost everybody has one! How would you like it if the next time someone came to take your daughter on a date they had an AR-15 strapped to their back?
     "How many times has someone actually come to the door with a gun when I was going to take their daughter on a date?" you might ask. A grand total of zero. I have been in a situation where the girl's brother had a shotgun at some point. So why am I so angry?
      I must be old fashion, or maybe not considering that this tradition has been going on for a while, but I would like to share with you some of the greatest examples in my life.

     When I was growing up my dad was my wrestling coach. Anyone who has been around wrestling for very long should know that wrestlers tend to be the tougher sort and not always the most well behaved of people. We fight for our sport, is it really a surprise that we are a little rough sometimes? I have a sister who is about three years older than me and she is beautiful. (She now is married and has two kids.) My dad is about as level headed as they come. He decided to help out with wrestling practice with the high school team. He gained the respect of many of the wrestlers there. I don't mean that they feared him. I am talking about respect. The kind of respect that goes both ways. He is a strong man. He has hands that have become hard from years of work. He is so fast that by the time you notice that he is setting you up for a shot he is already on your legs and you are headed for the ground. 
     One time a few young men were overheard talking about him. One said that he was cussed at by my dad. One of the others said something like he might have gotten mad or yelled at you, but he didn't talk like that.
     Long story short he respected young men and gained their respect. He is the kind of guy that looks people in the eye and shakes their hand. Why does he even need to get out the gun? He certainly has one!
     My sister was at seminary when her boyfriend flipped her some money and told her she could have the night off. This was totally inconsiderate and inaccurate. Mom caught wind of that and she told the boy off herself. My sister said that she was too hurt to tell him off herself. This boy was over six feet tall. Did my mom care? No. At least it didn't seem to stop her from doing what she did. She has gained respect herself. When this boys little brother, who is my friend, was acting up it didn't take her doing much for him to say, "Yes Mrs. Hoch."
     So maybe you aren't a wrestling coach or a fearless woman. Please find a way to gain respect and respect others. I just hope that people can talk to one another. Get to know us. (Us being the ones taking out your daughters.) Maybe we aren't the monsters you think we are.