Remembering Dreams...

Even though I've never done anything like this and am not sure I could, this really makes me miss our 14er-climbing days!

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Coming Back to Life

2008

Most people are wishing they could go back to pre-Covid. I'm wishing we could go back to pre-Parkinson's.

We can't step back in time, and we're stuck with this for life. So we are trying to make the best of it.

Parkinson's causes lots of restarts and do-overs. We can celebrate every milestone. Chances are, though, we're going to have to repeat milestones. Many times.

Every time Lizard rides a bit more, a bit longer, a bit stronger, we risk him not being able to ride again for a few days. Every time he takes a three-or-more-day-break from his bike, we have to start over from scratch. As if surgery was the day before, and he has to regain balance all over again.

Yet getting on his bike gives him a reason to smile. When you spend 10 or more hours a day being miserable because your medication has worn off and you can't take more for two whole hours, reasons to smile are pretty darned important.

2009

Lizard has been drooling over the temptation to build a new bike, a gravel bike. He knows it will be his last bike. He knows building it might take a very long time. He knows there is a very real possibility he might not get to ride the bike he wants to build. But, as he says, it would give his hands something to do when he can't control the tremors, and it would give his mind something to really focus on when frustration and depression are almost too much to bear.

So, yes, by golly, I'm buying him a new bike. A not-put-together bike. He will have to build it himself, and that's what he wants.

the road bike Lizard built in 2008

I've been trying to keep him busy with sudoku and crossword puzzles, coloring and quilting, but bikes are his real love. His first love. The thing he misses most.

His last road bike took him nearly a month to build. He was working full-time then. We may even have been training for upcoming charity rides. He probably could have built the bike in a week if he'd had the time.

Lizard's 2011 mountain bike

His last mountain bike took five weeks. Just look at that smile!

How can I not let him pursue the biggest dose of happiness he can achieve?

His favorite ride is the Triple Bypass, 120 miles in one day over three mountain passes (but now 110 miles). For the last few weeks, he's been reminding me how I used to take my lunch hour to try to get him in the Triple Bypass lottery because neither of us had smart phones back then, and he didn't have access to a computer at his work. Parkinson's steals your short-term memory, but sometimes, that long-term memory is sharp as a tack!

The Triple still sells out these days, but it and Ride the Rockies are no longer lotteries. Gone are the days of struggling to get registered. Now the struggle, for us, is quite different.

Back in 2018, we were waiting for Lizard's diagnosis appointment with the neurologist as Lizard prepared for the Triple Bypass. Back then, it took four months in Colorado to get in to see a neurologist for the first time. Who knows how long it would take now? Lizard had undergone an MRI two months earlier, and it would be two more months before we knew why his balance was deteriorating by the day.

2010

We didn't know if the problems Lizard was facing were caused by multiple sclerosis, Parkinson's or ALS. I planned to sell our house and buy an RV so we could go visit family while we still could if it was ALS. If it had been ALS, Lizard would be gone now, and I would be alone. So even though Parkinson's continues to get worse, sometimes every single day, I have much for which to be grateful. I still have my Lizard, and he can still ride. Even if riding has changed.

2011

The day of the Triple in 2018, Lizard's balance was so far off, I was frightened for his life. The Triple is not an easy ride. It is not an easy route. There are many places along the route where I would have no contact with him. But I couldn't bring myself to tell him he couldn't do it. I knew how much it meant to him.

2013

Ultimately, through three hours of what was beyond torture for him, he decided it would not be wise to ride that day. He has wanted a second chance ever since. After his knee surgery (and before Covid), he thought he would be able to ride the next Triple, which was cancelled due to Covid.

2014

We were training for charity rides we thought we might be able to tackle, if they occurred, during the spring of 2020. (All ended up being cancelled.) On April 29, 2020, Lizard suddenly couldn't get his leg over the bike anymore. Back surgery was performed in August of that year. Prior to both surgeries, we were warned the trauma might advance the Parkinson's. And it did. Both times. But Lizard would not have been able to exist without those surgeries. We weighed the options heavily. We knew it wouldn't be perfect, but it would be better than what we had.

I have to step back sometimes and remember that now. What we have now, although challenging, is better than what we had prior to the new knee and the new back. He could barely walk before the knee surgery. And he was slowly losing the ability to do anything prior to back surgery. Yes, we have to live with Parkinson's, but he can walk, and he can ride.

He kept asking me earlier this month if I thought he might be able to do the Triple again. I have told him since before we knew about the Parkinson's that he could ride whatever he was able, and I would pick him up when he was done. Even if he could ride only three miles.

Now that three miles is a genuine limitation. Or option... Yet it would bring him so much joy. It's such a healthy goal. It gives him reason to keep trying.

So, yes, goodness gracious, I've registered him for the 2022 Triple Bypass.

Or, shut up, Parkinson's...

The charities the Triple supports are worthy, so it doesn't really matter if Lizard can ride or ride far. We'll be supporting great causes. And if he gets to ride, even just a little bit, it will give him hope. It will give him joy. It could help him gain at least a little power over the power that is relentlessly trying to consume him.

Last week after the snow melted, our neighbor went on a little ride through the neighborhood with us. It was Lizard's first time back on the bike in at least a month. I thought we'd be going to the end of the street and back. We wound up riding three miles, which was quite the surprise for our neighbor, and quite the undertaking for Lizard. He wasn't able to ride at all again for a full week. And then we had to start over again. But we are getting accustomed to that routine now.

This is going to be a long process, and it's going to take a lot of patience and self-governance. But I think it is such a wonderful goal, I am so grateful Lizard is willing to keep trying. I hope, no matter what the future brings, he never loses that tenacity.

January 2017

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Hawaiian Dreams

Part Three of Three

I could cancel the trip altogether and let down a very dear friend who had never been to Hawaii, or I could take matters into my own hands.

Two months before my scheduled departure, I decided to use my savings to purchase airline tickets, and I put the hotel reservations on my credit card. Yes, I’d have to make payments on this trip of a lifetime, but it would be worth it. I would make it worth it.




I extended the trip by three days and bought tickets for an island hopper. We’d visit BOTH temples and the Polynesian Cultural Center, too. We would have a ball!


Five weeks before we were to leave, I finally met Mr. Right. Yes, it’s true. Hard to fathom, but factual. This development nearly sent my parents into cardiac arrest. They were quite sure they were stuck in a dream because no way was this ever going to happen in real life. Their beloved old maid wasn’t going to be a spinster after all.

The Lord likely knew exactly what He was doing when He made me scrounge for a female traveling companion. Novels and blockbuster movies have been written and filmed detailing the results of man plus woman plus beautiful tropical island. Yet still, leaving the love of my life behind for an entire week seemed like torture!


A week before departure, I took my final training ride. If I could successfully ride from my metro apartment to the top of the nation’s highest paved road, I would be able to do Mauna Kea. At home, I would have only 8,000 feet of elevation gain, but the mileage would be much further. And the weather would be much hotter. Mauna Kea doesn't have a brown cloud.


I successfully climbed more than 30 miles and made it to 10,000 feet, but I couldn’t go another inch. My bad knee stopped me cold. Actually, I was sweating by the bucket and not chilled at all. If I pushed any harder, maybe I could be the first to climb Mauna Kea in a wheelchair.

The next day, I cancelled my bike rental. I kept the moonlight tour because I thought it would be joyful.


It wasn’t. I mean, it was a great trip. Not just great, but fantastic. I loved hearing the history of the area and all about the native culture. I hiked atop a cinder cone and could see the summits of both Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea, as well as the ocean. The full moon rose in the shadow of Hawaii’s tallest mountain as the sun set. I hiked to the true summit of Mauna Kea. After dusk, I viewed planets and solar systems not visible to the naked eye via multiple telescopes set up especially for tour guests.






During the van ride the entire tour, all I could think of was taking a mountain bike up that long and winding dirt road. Looking back now, I'm not sure I would have been able to ride to the top, due to volcanic fumes I didn't realize I had inhaled during my brief hikes until the next day. Pretty nasty stuff!!!


The botanic gardens, fabric shops, temples and flowers everywhere somewhat made up for the disappointment. But every time I saw a bike, oh, how I wished I had at least tried.






That is, until I got back home. That’s when Mr. Right suggested a repeat trip might be the perfect honeymoon. Would I be willing to go through this again? Would I be willing to get married???


We haven't been to Hawaii. Yet. Our day will come. I promise.

Most couples romantically fantasize about beaches, shopping, diving and sightseeing in Hawaii. Not us. No. Not even Mauna Kea would be enough to hold our interest now that we’ve pedaled up the highest paved road in North America together and halfway across Colorado multiple time to boot. We want to ride around the entire Big Island. On our own bikes, not rentals.


Oh, and now he wants to ride all the way around the other islands, too. Plus, he's seen films of mountain biking in Hawaii. He gets as excited about single track as I do about flowers and photography.

I wonder what fishbowl I can drop a couple more tickets into to win yet another trip of a lifetime? Naaa. We’d probably end up having to pay for the trip ourselves.

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Hawaiian Dreams

Part Two of Three

I was still dazed as I made my way across the cultural hall to the stage, where the MC was now on third and final call. I raised my hand and waved so I wouldn’t lose my coveted prize. One gentleman tugged lightly on my arm as I passed.

“Aren’t you excited?” he quizzed. “You look like you’re going to a funeral.”

I felt as if I had been to a funeral, but his point was well taken. Not only had I won a trip to Hawaii, but I could now leave this wretched place just the way I came… Alone. Maybe I should wave my arms in the air and scream. No, the younger set could have the honors.


A parade of excited cries echoed through the cultural hall as the remaining winners were announced. I filled out my required paperwork while other trip recipients did headstands, end zone dances and Olympic cheers, injecting a good dose of enthusiasm back into the event. I snuck out the side door and into the dark parking lot when the music began again.


Hawaii. Four days and three nights. Airfare for two. Visions of plumeria, sea turtles and volcanoes didn’t immediately dance through my head as I walked like a zombie through the crisp Colorado air toward my car. All I could think was who would occupy that second seat.


For a moment, I thought of going back into the church to see if I could find a willing co-traveler. Maybe even one of those young college girls. She’d probably be plugged into an MP3 player the whole time, and I’d be taking pictures all four days, so it wasn’t like we actually had to be friends or crave the same things.


Three or four years earlier, it would have been such a simple dilemma. I could buy an extra ticket and take both my kids. We would have had a grand time. They would have spent all their time collecting seashells, building sandcastles, burying each other and getting wet. They likely would have been arrested for repeatedly sneaking into aquarium pools. Meanwhile, I would be taking pictures. The perfect vacation. Something I could not afford to give my children when they were fun. I mean, young.

But that was a different lifetime. I tried to let my mind wander.


I have plentiful friends. There were many people I could thank in a most eloquent way for their emotional support as I went through my darkest days. Almost all of them were married. Maybe I could just give the tickets to one of the couples who had made sure I didn’t spend a single holiday alone unless I wanted to. I glanced down at the voucher in my hand.

Non-transferable. Of course.


My brothers all had wives and kids. My sister was in a long-term relationship. Maybe my mom would go, and she’d definitely cater to my whims. But would she have fun? Would she want to do something like that without my dad?

Probably not. And Dad isn’t the traveling type. Back to the drawing board.

Who would put up with me in paradise for four days?


My tropical dream was never something to which normal people might aspire. Most tourists dream of spending four days in Hawaii on the beach, shopping, diving or seeing the sights. Not me. One of my lifetime dreams is to bike up Mauna Kea from Hilo. Sea level to 13,796 feet in 44 miles. Nearly 14,000 feet of elevation gain in a day. At the time, only one female had successfully done it. I wanted to be the second.


I commenced training immediately, even though it was the middle of winter in the Rocky Mountains. This might be my only chance to visit the Big Island, and I was determined to make it the best trip ever. I also found a single friend willing to drive a SAG (support and gear) wagon up Mauna Kea just in case I couldn’t make it or needed extra water or food. Hip, hip, hooray! I'm going to Hawaii!!!!!!!!!!


I soon came to the realization I should have used my two-wheeled steed to take that second seat. Not only would I have to dismantle my bike and then put it back together once I arrived in Hawaii, but the cost to transport it and the forms I’d have to sign to absolve the airline from responsibility for shipping my favorite mode of transportation nearly put me in my grave. I am not capable of adjusting the seat on my bike, much less dismantling the entire contraption and putting it back together in ride-worthy condition.


So I lined up a rental bike in Hilo. I researched my route. I rented a four-wheel drive vehicle we could use as a SAG mobile. I booked a moonlight tour up the peak for entertainment and reconnoiter purposes. I told all my friends what I was going to do, and my adrenaline level was off the charts.


Meanwhile, negotiations with the company theoretically providing this fantasy weren’t what I expected. The closer I got to my actual travel date, the more I began to suspect the trip was but a sham. I inquired via the singles group if anyone else was having trouble collecting their prizes, and sure enough, too many strings were attached. This trip was not by any means free.


Part Three will be published next week. Link won't work until the post is published.

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Hawaiian Dreams

Part One of Three

If it sounds too good to be true, beware. It probably comes with the power to muddle all kinds of things.

Miserable for many valid reasons and enduring yet another Christmas holiday season alone (back in 2003), I decided to attempt to boost my mood and self-confidence by giving the singles scene one more try. I attended a regional singles dance sponsored by my church. Alone.


It had been way too many years. Most of the music played was not something I can dance to, much less enjoy. Even though the event was designated for a target age group (30-45) and I fit nicely into that category, most attendees were far younger than me. Popular forms of socializing such as “speed mingling” didn’t particularly interest me. I preferred the outdated methods of “pick and choose” conversation partners and unlimited spontaneous dialogue without having to yell over noise confused with music. Fear crawled through my veins as I realized what this meant.

I was getting old!


I wanted to leave. But there was this tiny detail from which I just couldn’t walk away. Four roundtrips for two to Hawaii were to be given away. I had deposited my ticket in the fishbowl. It would serve me right if I walked out and my name was drawn.

The trips supposedly were donated by someone who allegedly had met their eternal companion through the church singles program and wanted to do something to improve participation and the chance for other singles to meet that special someone. Yes, all that legal disclosure language bugs me, too, but I wouldn’t want anyone to think my church is responsible for the hairballs we creative and benevolent beings sometimes spew.

The dance may not have been the romantic or even platonic breeding grounds I hoped, but I could hardly walk out without giving the free trip of a lifetime my best shot.


I attempted to politely ward off the advances of a boy – yes, a BOY – who insisted I would make the perfect girlfriend, while simultaneously dodging the white-haired Romeo who appeared to be chasing the Guinness record for most dances with strangers in two hours since the last singles dance I’d attended nearly a decade earlier. Yes, he was doing the same thing at that dance, too.

No one would allow me to be a wallflower, and yet I didn’t really want to dance with the group of 18 or so teenyboppers bouncing in the middle of the dance floor together to avoid “the vultures,” either. The refreshments were interesting. Not completely palpable, but full of intrigue.


Finally, it was time for the drawing. Ten minutes, and I’d be out of there. I could grin and bear ten more minutes.

Just as that hormone-charged boy still looking for a skateboard partner took a seat next to me, the first winner’s name was announced. I sat stunned for what seemed like 10 or 15 minutes, and the boy misinterpreted my response.

“I was thinking that since you like bikes so much, maybe we could go for a ride sometime,” he was saying. “Do you have a bike I can borrow? I don’t mind if it’s a girl’s bike. I sure hope you’re not one of those fanatics who likes to be on their bike all the time and rides 25 miles a week.”


I reached over to pat his hand, more to move it from my shoulder back to the table than an act of genuine affection.

“No, I’m the type who likes to do 50 miles a day,” I replied as I stood. “And that was my name they just called, so I have to go collect my airline tickets now. Thank you so much for keeping me company.”


Part Two will be published next week. Link won't work until the post is published.

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