The Biggest Friendliest Giant
Today was rough. It started optimistically! There was a pretty mist, the views were gorgeous, and I’d slept decently. But something felt off. The saddle wasn’t right, my legs were heavy, hills were hard, music was irritating.
So I switched to podcasts, took deep breaths, and kept going. But the hills got steeper and more frequent. Tears of frustration beaded on my eyelashes as I climbed the hills with my loaded bike. The landscape remained beautiful as the road bounced between peaks, my mood swinging from thrill to despondency. With stories of heartbreak and true love playing in my ear, it all felt like a metaphor; you can see brilliance all around you and still encounter challenges, but with love they’re a little easier.
My optimistic outlook faded as hunger set in, and I decided to cut my mileage for the day. A fellow cyclist had given me a number to contact to stay near Houston. I caved in and texted, part of me feeling like I’d miss an opportunity to meet someone new if I simply stayed in a park overnight. A prompt reply saying it would be great for me to stay sealed my plans.
The rest of the ride improved after swapping crushing pressure to hit 90 miles with a lunch of oranges and sandwiches. 5 miles out of Houston I let Wes know I was close, and he said he’d be waiting at the end of the drive way with his black pick up.
I spied it ahead, he waved over to me and helped tuck my bike in the back of his truck. His lofty 6”8 frame handled my bike with ease, and his kind smile and gentle approach put my tired self at ease too. We chatted briefly in the car. His voice filled with longing for his wife when I asked why he helped cyclists like myself. She’d recently died, sooner than expected from breast cancer. This degree of openness stuck for the rest of my stay, as we hunted for my lost debit card, chowed down on all the vegan sides possible, and went shopping for supplies. We spoke about achievements over the decades, sources of knowledge, family and friends - happy chats, even if some topics had an edge of sadness to them. After letting me pillage the kitchen for protein bars and teabags, we sat side by side in the side-by-side as Wes took me on a tour of the paths he’d carved for his wife.
We started through a meadow of tall grass and daises with dear leaping through. Then weaved between trees, their trunks illuminated by the amber light of sunset, and skulls left behind by wicked witches shining bright white against their dark bark. We played music loudly and stopped to appreciate points where Judys life crossed over most deeply.
Wes was special in his transparency. Yes he said he loved Judie, but it was so clear in everything around him too. This consistency bled into his kindness and humour. Helping to carry my basket, laughter so constant it made my cheeks and tummy ache, and space in conversation to feel safe and seen. What you see is what you get; the BFG of Missouri. Fighting sadness instead of man-eating giants though, a more relatable endeavour I imagine.
Today was unexpected, but somehow the same lesson came out of it. Love deeply, people especially. The little romantic podcasts that distracted me in my climbs made me want to say this. But the vast connection between Wes and Judie show it so clearly that it can’t be ignored.
