USA: How does a chicken cross a road?

Calling out a lifelong fear and casting it elsewhere, as a way to lighten my load for the journey ahead

When I was a newlywed, my husband rode a motorcycle. It frightened me a little bit, but he promised to ride responsibly and I trusted him. We rode together occasionally, just for something to do. Part of the fun for me was the thrill of the open road, but to be honest, most of it was just the closeness. I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my helmet against his back and held on. It was a cheap date—riding until we felt like stopping for an ice cream or a cup of coffee, then riding back home again.

But I was never the driver. Never. Motorcycles intimidate the heck out of me, to be completely honest. When you stall a car or even an ATV, or you hit the wrong pedal or lean too hard to one side, nothing really happens. Doing the same with a motorcycle, however, can be more than a little sketchy. And to be honest, I am still a little traumatized—45 years later—by the severe burns a childhood friend of mine received while riding a motorcycle, as well as the accident my own brother was in, years later. Motorcycles freak me out and I was relieved when Andy sold his.

So, a year ago, when Andy started talking about the need for a portable back-up mode of transportation for our upcoming life of full-time overland travels, I accurately guessed which road he was heading down. I knew he wanted something sturdy we could both ride in case of an emergency or errands to run, but I didn’t want a motorcycle, so I quickly erected a detour sign. I started up the search engine and traversed down the trail in search of a pair of good mountain bikes. We are still strong enough, I reasoned, that when our truck is parked and our campsite is all set up, we can simply ride bicycles into town if we need to go get supplies. He wasn’t convinced it would be enough, but we bought bikes just the same. They are even nifty folding bikes to save space in our cargo bay. We are pleased with our purchase and made a silly video last year about it, over on our Nomadic MidLife YouTube channel. It’s long, but has some funny moments, particularly at the beginning and the end. You might want to come back to it:

I thought we were done with the secondary transportation conversation or had at least kicked the can much further down the road. I figured we could get by with our mountain bikes for quite a while and would eventually get used to not having another form of transportation. We could make it work.

But a couple of weeks ago, Andy started talking again about wanting another secondary mode of transportation for our travels, a back-up to the back-up, a tertiary mode of transportation. He was concerned we would need more than bicycles, something that would tote us and our gear back up steep mountain roads or long stretches of emptiness. I felt a little wave of panic rise up in me. A secondary mode of transportation is not effective in an emergency if only one of us can operate it, so his clear intention was that I would become proficient at riding, too. He had begun consulting other overlanders to see what they recommended and was eyeing older Honda trail bikes—not big powerful motorcycles, but compact and reliable models that are easy to maintain and could carry both of us when necessary. Pushing my fears out of sight (but not out of mind), I quickly steered the conversation toward a cargo-style e-bike, one heavy-duty enough to carry both of us, if need be.

Honestly, I’m not even that excited about an e-bike. I’ve become a bit of a chicken over the years—cluck, cluck. I can recall I used to do reckless things long ago, like jumping off the swings at the playground, and riding my makeshift wannabe BMX bike (really just a Schwinn Slick Chick with knobby tires) down steep hills with ramps at the bottom (really just planks leaned up against a stack of bricks). I was a daredevil child. My dad would come watch if I begged him to, but he would always warn me not to let my mom see my antics. She would be afraid. I remember thinking to myself that when I grew up, I would not be afraid of a little fun. But here I am, the mom who likewise couldn’t watch her own kids do physically dangerous things and certainly doesn’t like to do them herself.

An e-bike doesn’t weigh as much as a motorcycle, though, nor does it go as fast. I figured I could learn to ride one of those. I shifted back into research gear and leaned into every corner of the interwebs. Sure enough, I found what I was looking for. I usually do. It was an e-bike designed for transporting heavy loads of cargo or a couple of kids. With the buddy seat attachment, it could transport an extra adult. It wasn’t fast or flashy, but it came equipped with a second battery for longer range and could get us into town for groceries, or back to a main road to flag down help if we break down.

I showed it to Andy. To my delight, he was actually impressed. It didn’t cost as much as a motorcycle would, and it certainly didn’t weigh as much. Best of all, the overall design was quite compact, perfect for the limited space on the back of our rig. I breathed a sigh of relief. Whew. I wouldn’t need to learn to ride a motorcycle.

But then we began to watch video reviews of that bike, as well as others we found that were similar. The suspension was not designed for off-road riding, and the range—when carrying that much weight up hills—would not be sufficient. I dug in for more research but ended up just spinning my wheels. Eventually, I ran out of gas and sputtered to a stop. There were e-bikes that could handle two passengers, and there were e-bikes that could handle off-road conditions—but not e-bikes that could do both very well, particularly on long hills. An e-bike wasn’t enough.

Although I knew it was logical, I dreaded the next step up and finally admitted my fear. I wish I could say Andy let off the throttle and stopped revving his engine for a motorcycle, dropping the subject altogether once he realized I was afraid. But that didn’t happen. It was still the obvious answer to the problem of transportation. I would need to face it head-on.

Don’t you go joining my husband at reminding me about how much I claim to want a life of adventure. Stop it, already. Nope. No more out of you. Zip it.

So now I find myself a chicken who needs to be able to cross the roads . . . on a motorcycle. How does one go about facing an actual fear and overcoming it? Researchers who have studied various methods would conclude that gradually facing fears—Prolonged Exposure therapy—is the best way to overcome them. A multitude of extensive studies have concluded that PE therapy is the most effective treatment for folks with PTSD, severe anxiety, phobias, and a host of other ailments.

Can’t go over it, can’t go under it, can’t go around it, gotta go through it. Whoosh.

I’m not a Buddhist, but an American Buddhist monk by the name of Pema Chodron wrote a fascinating scene in her book entitled When Things Fall Apart about a warrior in training who must learn to face her fear—personified:

The student warrior stood on one side, and fear stood on the other. The warrior was feeling very small, and fear was looking big and wrathful. They both had their weapons. The young warrior roused herself and went toward fear, prostrated three times, and asked, "May I have permission to go into battle with you?" Fear said, "Thank you for showing me so much respect that you ask permission." Then the young warrior said, "How can I defeat you?" Fear replied, "My weapons are that I talk fast, and I get very close to your face. Then you get completely unnerved, and you do whatever I say. If you don’t do what I tell you, I have no power. You can listen to me, and you can have respect for me. You can even be convinced by me. But if you don’t do what I say, I have no power." In that way, the student warrior learned how to defeat fear.

Gulp. Here we go, kids. I helped Andy research which motorbike model and year range would work best for us. We found a few nearby and went to look at them. I didn’t grumble, but I wasn’t happy about the prospect, either. I did not—and still do not—want to learn to ride a motorcycle. They scare me.

Andy tried to explain to me how it really wasn’t any big deal and it’s not difficult to learn and I would learn quickly and probably enjoy it. I definitely wasn’t buying what he was selling. And yet, together, we bought a little trail bike anyway.

It’s adorable, a well-maintained relic from 1982, sturdy and easy to fix, and the handlebars fold for storage. We will replace a few worn parts and modify it a bit so it is comfy for two.

So far, I have driven it exactly once—slowly—in the few days we have owned it, just a lap around our driveway and our little dirt road. My one little ride did not suddenly make me see the light and convert to a motorcycle lover.

But did you die?

No, I suppose I didn’t.

I have learned some basic principles from studying Prolonged Exposure therapy that I will put into practice. I will acknowledge my fear and name the possible outcomes that could occur if things go wrong, as I anticipate they will. Then I will gradually prolong my exposure to this activity, allowing myself to still feel afraid but handing that fear over (see below), and forcing myself to test out the dreaded activity, try it anyway, again and again. Following each exposure, I will mentally assess if my dire predictions were actually realized. Logically, I know they probably won’t be. I will gain more confidence with repeated exposure and each new realization that the outcomes I had feared are not being manifested.

Even this reasoned and logical approach does not leave me jumping for joy at the learning curve ahead of me. I will learn. I will gain confidence. I will get a motorcycle endorsement for my driver’s license.

The Apostle Peter, in his first letter written back in the first full century of the Roman Empire era, assured fellow Christ-followers that we can confidently cast our anxieties (fears, worries) upon God, for He cares for us. I love this image, to cast something upon someone else. It calls to mind handing over a burden, but to me it feels more clumsy and clunky than simply handing something over. This burden is bulky and cumbersome. I picture myself nearly dropping it, struggling, tossing a heavy load in a similar manner as when I was recently cleaning out the barn. There was so much junk that we don’t need and wouldn’t be worth trying to sell or even donate, so I put on grubby clothes and thick gloves and carried load after load, grunting with effort as I filled the trailer for a dump run, and then another one.

Or perhaps casting my burden onto God is like setting down a heavy backpack—unbuckling the straps, slipping it off one shoulder and letting it slide-thunk awkwardly around to the front, knocking me off-balance as I try to set it down. But just as I am wrestling to get it off me and set it down on the trail, half-tripping over it as I struggle, Someone far stronger than me steps forward, reaches for my pack, and says, “I’ll take that from here.”

At that point I have two options: I can quickly lift the pack again and hoist it back onto my back, or I can say, “Thanks,” and let Someone Else pick it up and carry it for me as we continue down the trail. That’s casting our cares upon Him.

Like a heavy backpack or junk that needs to be tossed into a trailer, fear can be a burden. For me, in this silly example of my dread of having to learn to operate a motorcycle, fear held me back from what I knew was the best option for us a year ago. Fear threatens to paralyze me even now, as I stand toe-to-toe with it, a warrior in training. But I don’t have to do what it says. By not listening to its lies and instead acting in defiance of it, I strip it of its power.

Casting all my anxieties on God will lighten my load significantly. And if you’ve been reading along as we get rid of nearly everything we own, you may have noticed we are finding a lighter load brings freedom.

I had hoped to share some very exciting news with you this week, but I am awaiting something in the mail, and it hasn’t arrived yet. Hopefully next week I will be able to share a photo of it in my hands!

Before you go, I would like to express my gratitude for a few subscribers who have been an encouragement to me over the years:

I have known Lisa Engelsman since childhood. We went to church together for several years, then became classmates at the same school for the sixth grade, before my family moved away from Michigan to California. We lost touch for many years but reconnected a little over a decade ago. Lisa, a fellow public-school teacher, is someone I trust implicitly, even though we have only seen each other a few times since we were kids. I respect her views on most every topic we have ever discussed, and she is a great sounding board behind the scenes when the media—both news and social—gets out of control. She’s a dear friend, despite the distance. Thanks, Lisa.

I admired Karen Barnett for a year or two before I could actually count her as a friend. When I first joined Cascade Christian Writers (formerly Oregon Christian Writers), I noticed she was doing what I wanted to do—starting small but pressing forward, writing and creating and innovating, pressing ever forward, and succeeding at getting her work out there in the public eye. She is a former park ranger who finds ways to integrate her love of parks and the natural world with her Christian faith and convert the mix into great storytelling. And to top it off, she’s a pretty cool person, too. It has been fun to watch her writing career develop over the years I’ve known her. Her skillful use of the written word continues to grow, but her humble and gracious manner remains the same. Thanks, Karen.

I have known my two original, now grown-and-gone kids, Naomi and Jaxon, since before they were born, of course. But I will refrain from telling any detailed stories about how one of them broke my rib from within the womb and the other cried steadily for a year upon exiting the same womb, haha. It’s been a wild ride together, to be honest. But they have stuck with me, encouraging me to pursue my writing even when it has come at a cost to them personally. Both are faithful readers of this little newsletter and occasionally text me just to say how much they enjoyed a particular post. It is such an encouragement to me! We have been through a lot together and it has not all been easy, but I am so very, very grateful that we can maintain a loving relationship, despite all our challenges over the decades. Thanks, Naomi and Jax.

If you found something of value here and believe others would benefit from it, too, feel free to share this post.

And if you don’t want to miss any of our upcoming adventures, make sure you subscribe so my stories come straight to your email inbox every Tuesday morning.

Until next week,

Sherry

P.S. I sure hope by then I will have physical proof of the good news I want to share with you.