When the Universe says PAUSE - This TBI Recoveree Listens

The universe had a clear message for me today to stop and pause. I’ve been working some pretty long hours this summer, taking the day job way too seriously and not handling stress well. As a post-concussion survivor, this always leads to setbacks in my health. I’d forgotten to maintain my balance.

This was supposed to be the summer of Julie! I was supposed to spend time in the sun! I had plans to get out kayaking and swimming in the lake after shoulder surgery in the winter. I was supposed to get out riding my motorcycle. This was supposed to be the summer I reconnect with friends post-covid-19-restrictions. That didn’t happen. None of it did.

Now as the signs of fall begin to appear – leaves turning color, geese practicing migratory flight patterns in v-formation overhead, I was determined to get out for a ride on my motorcycle. I needed my motorcycle zen – the space where I empty my mind of everything, embrace the view of the open road, feel the wind on my face, and just be.

THE FIRST PAUSE

My old die-hard biking buddies would be heckling me now as I admit it’s September and I’ve only been out a handful of times this year. I assumed the battery might be a little dead and was already prepared to embrace my first pause of the day while I wait and charge the battery. I removed the seat, hooked up the battery and pulled up a chair to wait. I’m not giving the Universe a point for this pause – I was expecting a dead battery. After three or four fail attempts to start the bike, the beautiful bike roars to life!

I gear up, stow the bike charger and tools in my saddle bag and head out. I immediately take stock of my gas level and know I need to fuel up in 40 or 50 km. A short ride to further charge the battery first is in order. For the non-riders, a quick ride after a charge helps the battery hold its charge. Next, a bike gas tank isn’t very big so I have to monitor my fuel and mileage closely. With an older bike like mine, its a little manual and requires me to reset the trip odometer.

My mission? Ride around a little to help the battery charge, a quick stop for gas then get the ride really going!

The universe had other plans. Just a few kilometers from home on a rural stretch of road the higher gears seem to be slipping. I contemplate ending the ride just as it has begun, but the open road and desire to ride is still calling! Eying the odometer I notice that the digital display goes blank briefly. This is my sign to turn around and go home. The battery must not be holding the charge and it may be time for a new one.

I do a u-turn and the bike springs to back to life!

What the heck? Maybe the digital display blanking out is my imagination?

At the next intersection I decide I can keep riding. The universe however, has other ideas. The bike sputters and dies at the edge of a fairly busy country road. I’m only 6 km from home but w-a-a-a-y too far to push a 500-pound machine with my back, neck and shoulder injuries.

Universe 1. Me 0.

I pull out my cell and call roadside assistance.

“It’ll be a 2 hour wait,” says the voice.

THE SECOND PAUSE

I pause at that. Not good. I’m wearing all black. Leather jacket and long pants. Blazing sun with no shade. Moving on the bike at 80 km per hour keeps you cool in this heat. Stopped in the sun with the temperature climbing into the high 20s before humidex? Not so much. For my American friends, that is getting into the mid-80s. I resolve that I will be a puddle of sweat within two hours and say so to the woman on the phone.

“If you want to go somewhere, we can text you 10 minutes before we come back. But you must be with your bike when we arrive.”

I agree to a text alert and try texting a couple friends. It's a weekday and everyone I know will be working. As I await a reply the faint sound of radio music catches my attention and I look around. Across the road and up a way is the old beekeeper’s property. I remember them shutting down last year. Down the long country laneway I see a woman milling around. I grab my belongings and start the 100-metre trek to ask for help. Or at least a seat in the shade.

The radio gets louder as I approach and I realize it’s coming from a car. Its door is wide open. The woman is gone but there is a young boy sitting in the front seat. He is hanging out the door twisted around watching me closely. His eyes are wide with a look of concern. He clearly has the visible characteristics of down syndrome. I smile and wave and stay back so as to not alarm him. He smiles back and begins nodding his head to the music watching me attentively.

“Can I help you?” a female voice calls from the house.

I ask permission to push the bike down the lane to a shady spot and borrow an extension cord for a 15-minute charge. With a smile the friendly woman agrees quickly and insists on helping me with the bike. I mount the bike, pushing it with a helpful hand from my new friend over a bump in the road.

Julie 1, Universe still at 1.

We chat idly as I hook up the bike to my charger I'd brought with me. The woman tells me they are moving north and will be leaving shortly. Very shortly. I vividly recall how I felt earlier that year when seeing a sign announcing the closure of the business and say so.

“I’m sorry,” I offered, “It must be hard.”

At that, the woman smiles brightly and said it is a good thing before excusing herself to finish getting ready.

THE SECOND PAUSE CONTINUES

As the battery charged, I realized I had so many questions I didn’t ask. Was she the owner of the business? Was she sad about the closure? Did they sell off the hives? Was that her son in the car still watching me while seat-dancing to the music? I smile at his genuine innocence. I couldn’t begin to imagine the trials and challenges that this woman has faced raising him. Nor the trials he would face as an adult. Where was the father? Was he in the picture? Is a marital breakdown the reason for the move?

And I didn’t get a chance to say thank you. As the bike roars to life after the short charge, I am afraid to linger. I wound the long extension cord and place it by the porch, looking around for my benefactor. Not finding her, I waved a quick goodbye to the young boy wishing him well silently in my head.

Universe 1, Julie 2.

Just before getting on the bike, I think to call roadside assistance back. Elevator music and a message of a lengthy wait time greet me. Placing the phone on speaker I slide it into the breast pocket of my jacket and mount the bike for the short ride home. When a disembodied voice finally answer, I pull over an idling and sputtering bike while gently revving the throttle. I ask the voice to put me back on hold for a few more minutes – hoping that is enough time to get me home. Sounding a bit bewildered, the voice obliges as I resume my limp home.

The universe is trying to claim another point. I am desperately fighting it.

We limp home, my precious Honda Shadow and I. All the while, the poor girl's digital display is blanking out and the engine is sputtering. As I turn onto my road, I’m forced to pull into the ‘walking and cycling’ lane where I’m struggling to maintain the speed of even a bicycle. Riding the clutch to allay stalling, I'm just hoping my forward momentum is enough to get me home. At this point I can see my laneway but it’s still too far to push. I say a silent prayer and behold, the bike dies at the foot of my drive. We made it!

Universe 2, Julie 2.

THE THIRD PAUSE

It is then that roadside assistance voice returns on the line. With a thanks, I cancel the roadside call. At least I’m home and I can assess next steps. But what are they? I push the bike into the garage and before I hook up the battery to the charger (again) I drop into the chair I’d brought up earlier and collapse for a rest. The sweat is dripping now in all the wrong places. I check my phone. My girlfriend responded and had been ready to come get me. I let her, and the others I’d reached out to, know I’m home and safe.

“Clearly the Universe is telling me not to ride today,” I texted my friend.

“Or perhaps,” she replied, “the Universe was telling you to wait and go later.”

At that I stare at the bike forlornly. This was to be my day. I take the bike seat off and prepare to hook the battery again to the charger. This time I look more closely at the connection and realize the nut that the battery is bolted to had come loose. The connection simply wasn’t tight. I get out my tools and after a bit of cursing get the nut back in place and bolt it securely to the battery contact.

I take a deep breath to steel myself and pause once more before trying to start the bike. It roars to life at the lightest touch.

As I mount the bike once more - for I agreed with my friend – perhaps the Universe wanted me to wait and go later. I reflect on my day as I ride over country roads with winding curves, hills and bends. I let the wind against my face remind me how I need to take more breaks from the hustle and bustle of life. I need to make my mental health and physical health a priority again. I need more time for play and rest. I think again of the kind woman and son with down syndrome and at the challenges they must face. Suddenly my challenges don't seem that bad.

I wish I could say there was more to the thinking, more pensiveness and inspirational thoughts that hit on that ride. Truthfully, the glory of the ride is entering the sheer nothingness of thought. Bending with the curve, slowing to admire landscapes that artists drool over. It is the calming of ‘concussion brain’, of being totally in tune with the moment.

THE FOUTH PAUSE

And then I paused and pulled over. The sight of the rolling hills, the hints of fall leaves starting to change made for an awesome backdrop on this moment. I pulled out the smartphone and snapped a photo before returning to the nothingness of the ride home. And there it was. Minutes from home, a terrible car accident was just being cleared away and traffic was being redirected. At the intersection with brand new traffic lights turned on the day before. The same intersection I’d been through three times this morning already on my delayed outing. This time, post-concussion-brain hyper-focused on a single thought,

Would I have been in the middle of this if my morning outing hadn’t been delayed?

I sent a silent thank you to the heavens that it was not me. A brief prayer for the persons involved. And a mental note to remember to take time and PAUSE.

The Universe : Julie match up?

Universe - I concede.

I'll remember to PAUSE.