A silhouette in a bakery
A few days back I cycled into a pair of retired men doing the TransAm. This is the most common entity I’ve met while cycling. This pair immediately said what has been increasingly apparent - “you’re the only women we’ve met, the only one doing it solo”. So I was planning to write about being a rare woman out here, and how empowering it feels.
But then my trip collided with a group of incredible women. A group who were deeply empowering through their shared pain. This parallel with my motivations for this challenge could not be ignored.
It started in a bakery, in a tiny town, at the end of a long day at high altitude following the steep climbs of Colorado. My expected accommodation wasn’t easy to find, so I moseyed into this little bakery hoping to gain some pointers. I was met with an offer to camp behind the bakery and some curious welcoming faces. Three women sat around a table, and welcomed me over to chat about my cycling; the highlights and the horrors. We skipped over the negatives and jumped into signing happy birthday over a slice of apple cake since I’d celebrated it alone. Soon it transpired it was two of their birthdays recently too! Less joyous though, was their reason for being in this small town. Their friend had a cabin 2 miles up the road. Their friend had died in October in an accident while riding her bike. Her name was Jocelyn.
Past their shiny eyes and strained voices as they spoke about Jocelyn was an adoration to their memories of her. The passion with which she lived her life left a bright silhouette in her absence. One that shone through in the recollections her friends shared with me, and in the kindness of their actions too.
After devouring a pizza and the cake these three friends whisked my bags in the back of their car, and balanced my bike expertly on their bike rack. As we drove away they all appreciated the loveliness of the baker, his dog, and the charm of the establishment. This was to become a common occurrence; clear appreciation of people and their place in the world.
I promptly showered, my head swimming with admiration for the supportive and positive approach they took to grieving, the radiant honesty with which they spoke, and the blinding kindness they brought to me.
More friends of Jocelyn came. Each with their own personality and perspectives, but united in the depth of their honesty and kindness. As they shared stories about Jocelyn, elements of her came through in their actions. How they appreciated each other, the generosity they offered, the support they gave their communities, the way they explored the outdoors. It was beautiful to see the outline of a stranger in the hearts of her friends.
We chatted late into the evening, daughters joining, and Jocelyn’s husband too. We shared stories and experiences, dreams and hopes. This immersion in the lives of others created a foundation on which I could properly recuperate, which was only amplified with the ardent support and curiosity they all showed me. The same support and curiosity they showed to each other. There is increasing momentum behind the notion of women supporting women, and this group exemplified it, across generations.
As I left the following morning, chocolate bar from a goodie bag packed, a photo with all their names and numbers on the back, and a rejuvenated soul, everyone was doing aerobics outside. The dancing stopped for photos, and a cheerful send off as I rode the dirt track back to town. That day I didn’t need music or podcasts. Instead I replayed the time we’d spent together, trying to pull together everything I’d learnt from these women. But the diversity of these women left no single lesson to remember. Instead, from the breadth of their brilliance comes the silhouette of a friend they’ve lost and ripples of kindness that follow such a heartbreaking loss.
Thank you for showing me how to remain true to yourself and strong despite pain, and how that comes not from being alone but from pulling together. As a solo woman cycling across America, it’s evidently a message I needed to hear.
