Stories make up all of our lives, they are proof of the existence our past, present and future. The stories that we tell have taken root within our hearts, proof of an existence and our heart can continue on through a story.

My Mom reminded me of one such story at Christmas. When the Martinez children were very young, my Grandpa Fred hid our Christmas presents in a shed  and apparently being the naughty children we were…the presents were found early and unwrapped. The four older siblings received bicycles from our Grandpa and my two younger siblings received a wagon, all were very cool (the last two of our siblings were not yet conceived )…anyway, that left me, #5  child…I was given a stupid doll and her name was Deedee…ugh.  Apparently, Grandpa felt I was too small and it was unsafe for me to have a bicycle. I am still upset about not getting that bicycle and was not a big fan of DeeDee.  My next memorable story occurred as a passenger riding on the handlebars of my brother Ronnie’s bike. Ronnie was supposed head to the ranch to milk the cows and I wanted to go with him. For whatever reason Mom would not let me go with him…Ronnie of course did not want to  disappoint me and he scooped me up,  placed me in front of him on the handlebars of his bike and we were off. As we set off down the hill to the ranch my little foot got caught in the bike wheel/spokes. We knew we would be in trouble and so Ronnie took me all the way to the ranch and our Aunt Melva would bandage my right ankle. Because we were young my brother Ronnie and I thought we were safe and out of trouble, my Mom would never know that I had disobeyed her…of course Aunt Melva would call Mom to tell her I had been hurt and of course we were in trouble. I still carry that large scar on my right ankle, it is about the size of a silver dollar, but it is also a constant reminder of a great story I share with my brother Ronnie who is no longer with us.

These stories are just two examples of my exposure to bicycles at an early age. Now, I would like to say that this sparked something in me at a young age and that I’ve been an avid bike rider since childhood, sadly this is not the case. Like most people we learn to ride a bike and then play with riding a bike when we are kids. As adults bike riding for some becomes just a fun thing we do sometimes. And now this non-bike riding self thinks she’s going to compete in a 2745 mile race, unsupported, up and down mountains for 50 days.

  • Yes, I’ve committed to ride in the Tour Divide.  I’m gonna do that…
  • why…because it’s there…
  • why…because it’s hard-but not impossible…
  • why…because it will hurt, but it will never hurt the same way I’m hurting now
  • why…because being alone on a bike and being alone on a road in my head may be the thing that can help (not fix) , but help my pain.
  • why…because maybe I can use Pain to Heal Pain.



2 thoughts on “Stories

  1. And there it is! Good post, sister! Make sure you share this on the FB page Friends and Family of Chris Ramsey.



  2. When I’ve got things to process, I often find the mixture of rhythm, pain, scenery and attentiveness found on a bike can be very helpful. I’m not a religious guy, but for those particular rides my personal metaphor that I say to myself is, “I’m going to church”.


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