BALCONY PEOPLE

Author Joyce Landorf once described balcony people as behind the scenes people, people unseen yet truly responsible for any successful endeavor.  This 2014 Polar Cycling Expedition has identified five balcony people that have resulted in a successful expedition that began on June 16th and ending on August 27th.  This tour began on June 16th in a Billings to Missoula run, then a flight up to Deadhorse, Alaska--next to the frigid Arctic Ocean and ending on August 27th in Missoula, Montana.  

BALCONY PERSON:  DIXIE THOMAS HALL

Dixie has been my Rock of Gibraltar through all of the tour. She served as postal clerk--sending food supplies to remote parts of Alaska for later pickup by our team, she never failed to include a note of encouragement with each shipment. 

  

BALCONY PERSON:  RICK STILES

I owe the most gratitude to Rick.  Nine months prior to our tour, Rick meticulously researched the Dalton Road in northern Alaska, the best routes through the Yukon, logged up daily mileages and ending points that offered the best amenities possible.  Although he was not able to fully enjoy his own careful planning, without it, the tour would have ended in Fairbanks.  Thanks, Rick for your unflagging support and encouragement all the way to the end.  We are a team!

BALCONY PERSON:  MARK COLE

Forty years ago I was in a Christian rock band doing a tour in Asia when one day a young saxophonist walked into our team, Mark Cole.  His passion for music and his faith in God helped our team endure amazing setbacks and adversity. So here we are--hadn't seen each other for 40 years!--bicycling together for three days in Alberta, Mark's home area.  We laughed, caught up, reminisced, and discussed the future. What a great time to have Mark's encouragement toward the end of my journey.  

BALCONY PERSON:  MENNO DEKHUYZEN

When Rick, after a difficult decision, needed to return home and left from Fairbanks, it was almost as if God still wanted the tour to continue.   Another bicyclist we'd met in Cold Foot again connected with us in Fairbanks and there we decided to tour together.  So Menno--another recumbentist--and I began the long descent through Alaska, the Yukon Territory, and down into British Columbia before parting ways.  Menno, a Netherlander, headed west for Prince Rupert and I headed east for Prince George.  Menno brouth to the table companionship, great positive energy, Netherlander humor, and excellent conversation.  Not sure I could have continued alone; Menno helped me through the middle of the tour.     

BALCONY PERSON: JIM LEWIS

Jim first showed up at a party in Billings--a recumbent afficionado--and showed a great interest in our tour.  Over the weeks, Jim would scamper ahead through Google Earth and plot out what was ahead of us--amenities, climb ratios, and other pertinent information. Often I was well-prepared because of Jim's leg work.  Thanks, Jim.

So my deep gratitude goes to the TEAM, the balcony people who made it impossible for our tour to fail through their unsung, generously offered help.

Thanks, Dixie, Mark, Rick, Menno, and Jim!

ALL I REALLY NEEDED TO KNOW I LEARNED FROM A MOUNTAIN

I had heard about Hungry Mountain at least three hundred kilometers before I ever encountered it.  "Quite a hill!  Don't be afraid to walk your bike up it--it's pretty long and HIGH!" Shortly outside of Houston, BC we were formally introduced. Hungry Mountain was a lot taller than I had imagined.  I wondered how many cyclists it had eaten and spit out.  

Nevertheless, that mountain with its upwardly undulating peaks became a great teacher for this skinny preacher. Here's what what I learned about climbing and life during the hour Hungry Mountain and I conversed:

• DON'T PANIC.  The first thing we do when we first see a daunting challenge is to panic.  Yikes!  I can't do this, there's no way.  I'm outta here!  But don't take the easy flight exit out of formidable obstacles.  Don't run! Remember what Winston Churchill said that Barnes and Noble has recycled:  "Be calm and carry on."

• KEEP YOUR FOCUS ON THE LARGER GOAL.  All around me, a flurry of activity swirled--big logging trucks flying by within inches of my bike, construction signs that blocked my forward advance, debris on the road, and noise levels that unnerved me.  So easy to get distracted by the energy and "noise" around us that we can lose focus on the larger goal.  So I forced myself to fix my focus on the top of the five mile mountain.  I kept everything else in my periphery so I could dodge or duck if I needed to, but I kept focused on the ultimate goal--getting on top of that mountain.

• LISTEN TO YOUR BODY.  Menno and Rick are good at listening internally.  They will stop mid-mountain climb to get their heart rate back down and catch their breath. So I've learned from them to listen to my body.  For example, if you hear a crackling sound, that's your knee cap exploding or that snap and ping sound may be your cartilege and tendons separating. One translation of a verse from Psalm 139 says, "the Lord knows where we need to stop and rest."  I really believe that.

• BE A SELF-COACH.  Keep telling yourself to be calm and carry on.  Keep speaking hope into your consciousness as you scale your mountain or obstacle.  Confession and encouragement are amazing tools when the going gets touch.  So congratulate yourself for every gain you make.

• ENVISION YOUR ACCOMPLISHMENT. See yourself cresting the summit. Imagine the exhileration that comes with great accomplishments.  See a friend, a wife, a husband, a sibling standing on top, cheering you on. That's what the writer of Hebrews did to encourage the beleaguered Christians of his day--"seeing you're surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses let us run the race set before us" (Hebrews 12:1).  

Eventually I scaled Hungry Mountain and lived to tell about it!  You can to when you face your own hungry mountains by refusing to panic, keeping your focus, listening to your body, being your own coach, and imagining your achievement.

All of our gear had been crammed into a 12x15 cabin that held two exhausted cyclists and the world's smallest bathroom. We were in Iskut, British Columbia.  Not far out of the campground we came upon a rickety assemblage of ramshackle buildings on a knoll off to our right.  

Anyone here? we yelled, trying every door of the main building.  Silence.  Our final attempt was an understated white plywood door that opened into a kitchen with a few tables scattered about.  A few early morning types were shuffling around, coffee splashing with every step.  

Coffee? I grunted as the server came to us.  Now both eyes open and beginning to thaw from the outside chill, we got engaged with the folks clustered around the tables.  Steve was from Australia.  Marlene and Roger were from Hazelton, BC, and the grandkid from Alaska.  "Where you from, eh?"  Oh, I'm from Montana, and this here's Menno--he's from The Netherlands.  (Don't say, Holland, I whispered, Holland is just a province.)  So we told our story for the one-hundreth and thirty-fifth time to our breakfast friends.  

"Where you headed to, eh?"  Again, the usual litany.  Menno would be going right at the terminus to Prince Rupert and I would be going wrong, as Menno liked to put it, to Prince George.  Addressing me, Marlene announced, "Well, you'll be coming right by our fish shop, and when you come, we're going to treat you to one of our haddock lunches."  Roger, the chief cook, said nothing, just smiled and knodded approvingly.  We agreed on Friday, noon.

Unfortunately, I didn't make it into New Hazelton until Saturday.  Ergo, no haddock.  No friends to greet.  Sunday came, and I'm was at the farmer's market end of town.  "That'll be $4.00," the guy says as I pay and stuff my wild dried mushrooms into my bike saddlebag  Suddenly, this farmer guy jumps up, pulls off his overalls, and steps out with black pants ready to go to church. Can I go with you? Startled that any stranger would want to go with him to his Pentecostal church, we jumped in his car and enjoyed church--the rich, dark roast kind of worship that moves you deep in the soul.

After worship, Dean brought me back to the farmer's market where I'd left my bike with Flo, Dean's mushroom-selling wife. Pedaling out of the market I spied it!  Yes!  There was the haddock people selling fried fish as if it were ice cream. "Hey, Thomas, we been waiting for you.  We've got a haddock lunch for you, remember?"  I explained my delay in getting to their town at the right time.  Then told them about going to a "Pentecostal" church that morning.  "Why that's the church we go to," Roger crowed.  "Ya meet Pastor Jerry? Isn't he something else?"

So there you have it.  Go to church and let God bring the haddock to you.      

[First picture:  Marlene and Roger; Second picture: Pentecostal Dean]