Riding in the wailing winds and along Interstate-80 had me thinking about what makes me feel safe on my bicycle. There are several levels of feeling like you belong on a particular road, just as there are in a workplace.
At a basic level, you have to be allowed. Some road prohibit bicycles, and some laws or rules prohibit certain people in specific places (such as women's roles in the military or at a place of worship).
At the next level, you feel invited. Maybe the environment isn't that comfortable, but there's at least a subset of people who want you in that space. Bicycle highways are like this. They aren't made for cyclists, but there are features like signs or marked lanes that signal you are invited and remind motorist that they share the road.
But the true standard is beyond invitation. It's respect. You aren't just tolerated or invited by a few, but you are truly valued. The space is designed for you to thrive, accounting for strengths and weaknesses. Bicycle paths, separated from high speed traffic and designed for cyclists, are an example.
But riding on I-80 was the least of my problems today.
The winds weren't quite as bad as before when I set out. On Interstate 80, signs flashed warnings about dangerous wind gusts. Winds of 30-50 mph, with gusts up to 70 mph were possible. They anticipated having to close I-80 due to high winds, which I understand is a common occurrence in this part of the country as the powerful winds can easily overturn tractor-trailers. So it wasn't such a great day to ride after all.
It began to sprinkle as I arrived in Saratoga. I didn't intend to stop here overnight; I had a camping reservation another 20 miles down the road. As I climbed the hill out of town, a gust of wind nearly knocked me over. A tumbleweed tangled in my spokes. A box came flying toward my head. I ducked, but barely saw it in time since my eyes were caked with dirt. It was impossible to see. I dismounted my bicycle. The sand particles in the wind began to clink against my glasses and grate at my skin as I struggled to hold my bicycle upright against the gusts. Going on was foolish.
That's when Sally drove by. She explained their small congregation has a cyclist ministry, and that I was welcome to stay at the Agape House.
At first I thought the storm might subside enough to go the next 20 miles. But the winds remained relentless. It was a time to stay, a time to delay, a time not to go.
Sally rescued me from a violent wind and lightning storm and offered me shelter at the St. Barnabas Episcopal Church's Agape House in Saratoga, Wyoming. Here we enjoy a refreshing beverage together at SunnyCup.
