Ready for My Gravel Era

"Am I being impulsive?" I asked Grant, my husband, as we sat down to Sunday night dinner. (Which sounds way more impressive than it was. Chicken fajita leftovers and N/A beer, but hey: we did use cloth napkins.)

No, he said, I was absolutely not being impulsive. 

So, with his blessing, I did some very deep research (read: a quick search for best gravel bike for tall people). Within a click, I landed on the basic version of the Canyon Grizl, a bike whose sizes range from XS to 2XL. In between bites, Grant measured my height (I'm still 6'3"+) and my inseam (36"). Twenty minutes later, I clicked buy. 

The process was speedy, but I’ve wanted a gravel bike since before the pandemic. The purchase always felt too indulgent. I already had two bikes, not to mention two teenage kids and two dogs who were all capable of producing an emergency, expensive situation at any moment.

I’m currently on my second time through The Artist’s Way. Throughout the twelve chapters, author Julia Cameron asks, in what feels like a hundred different ways: What did you love to do as a child? Tap into that, she says, and you'll find creativity, lightness, a way back to your most authentic self. 

As a kid, I figure skated. I read the Betsy-Tacy series. I played Monopoly for full days. But what I loved the most was being outside. 

In the winter, that meant cross-country skiing. In my imagination, I was covering miles through deep, dark woods where a fox lurked behind every tree. In reality, I was never far enough from home to lose sight of a porch light. And that fox? Oh, that's my dog Basher. 

In the summer, it meant riding my green three-speed back and forth to our mailbox, maybe a tenth of a mile, again and again. When I was feeling bold, I’d swoop into the neighbor’s U-shaped driveway, smooth tar a welcome break from the gravel road.

Either way, I was out in the world. I was among worms and birds, breathing in fresh air, spinning stories in my head as I spun through the landscape. It wasn’t about being athletic or fast. It was about moving at a pace I could absorb my surroundings and recon could absorb my surroundings and reconcile how I fit into it all.

Although I didn't know it back when I was covered in mosquito bites as I did another lap to the mailbox, being in motion brings me to my truest, most natural self.

Could my smile be any wider? I'll answer that: no. 

As you may know, I’ve been dealing with chronic pain for the past two years. (It’s a long story—and one I want to write about—but not today.) I acknowledge I have many good things in my life right now. And, because two things can be true at once, I acknowledge that the pain in my legs, most present when I have to stand or walk for anything longer than about five minutes, has made my world feel considerably smaller.

Right now, I am unable to move through the world when I exercise. I get plenty of movement as I teach spinning and strength classes and swim, but everything is inside. (And the pain, surprisingly, is very minimal during those activities.) My spirit needs more time outside than the commute from the parking lot to the gym. 

My bike arrived quickly, and I took it out last week for its first ride. The Highline Canal is a gravel path that runs the length of Denver and has an entry about a mile from my house; it used to be my favorite place to run.

Before I even hit the gravel, though, I was in love. The handlebars are thick and steady under my hands. The tires are solid and sturdy. The gears shift with a satisfying click.

About halfway through the ride, her name came to me: Moose. She's unbreakable, and with her, I can't wait to be out in the world again.