I started recording Membercare radio programs again this week. I was figuring out that it has been about two and a half years since I was last in the studio. I found myself nervous about the process which I don't think I ever was in Holland. I've spent some time figuring out why that might be. It is a new place and a new producer, but recording on a scheduled date instead of the casual kind of way we could do things in Holland was probably the biggest factor. I was used to preparing the programs, then when they were ready I'd contact Ted and we'd set up a date, usually in the next day or two. This time, maybe I didn't feel quite as prepared as previously. I don't mind the stumbling over words or a bit of rambling or some of the other things that naturally occurred. Those can be edited out, but I am always concerned about forgetting some important point which I might remember much later. Those are "argh" kind of moments.


      As I was thinking about how I felt I realized it was just like the feelings I had when we first moved to the Netherlands and I was reintroduced to riding a bike. When  we moved, we bought bikes within the first week or two. We had bikes before we had a car and used them much more. I really came to enjoy the bike riding aspect of life in Barneveld. It was one of my favorite things about life there, but I well remember those first days and weeks of riding. 

      When I first got on my bicycle I assumed I still had the basic skills to remain more or less vertical. And amazingly I did. However, some of the finer points, like steering, had been lost in the intervening years. The bike paths there are wide enough for three people to ride abreast. This was almost enough room for me to comfortably steer past someone coming towards me. Well, almost. The real danger arose when two people were heading right at me and I wasn't at all sure I could steer well enough to keep from running into them. I so wanted to have a sign around my neck, in Dutch, of course, that said, " I have not been riding a bicycle continuously since I was three years old. Be on the alert and kindly move into single file while passing me for your own safety." Okay, it would need to be a placard to say all of that and no one could read it fast enough to be of any use. How about, "Buitlander, Let Op!" "Foreigner, Watch Out!" 


      It wasn't just the bicyclists coming towards me that unnerved me as I rode, but there were other obstacles and narrow places along the way too. The one I remember most was a place between our home and the grocery store. It consisted of two waist high metal arches which were spaced a bit apart, but which overlapped. I could not just turn and right straight through them, there was a bit of a weaving motion that was necessary. It was narrow and my bike was wide with the saddle bags for carrying the groceries. 

They were made of these metal bars.

But they are configured like this. The barrier sides were a
little shorter and a bit wider apart , but you get the idea.

 I remember the first time I headed into this bicycle trap. I was following Jon, who had no difficulties picking up cycling with all its necessary skills. I didn't see until too late where he was leading me. All I could think as I approached this was that one line from an Indiana Jones movie, "Go between them, are you crazy!"  Falling down and hurting myself was somehow not appealing. Running into metal poles seemed like an efficient way to do that. By the time I saw them it was too late to do anything but try. As I was winding through I saw that my front tire was heading toward a curb which was ready to jump out and attack my  front tire. 




Avoiding it was going to require a sharp left turn partway through the slalom to avoid the curb. It looked hungry. It looked like rubber was its favorite food. It's face was black with the evidence of its previous victims. Timing, proper speed and dexterity were the keys. What are those?!  Inside I am going,"Aaaaaaa!" On the outside I am gripping the handlebars like a vice and wishing I was on foot.

     I well remember the feeling of triumph when I did manage to navigate that obstacle unscathed and emerged on the other side. Yes, the rush of adrenaline, this was my own version of extreme sport! You can see my expectations for myself are very low. That little challenge to my riding skills got easier and easier, of course, and then became a fun part of the ride. A small challenge to myself in the day to day. Amazingly I never fell, never ran into someone or something nor did I ever crash in any way in all the time we were there. I count myself most fortunate.  

      So I am hoping and expecting that the recording will become easier in the weeks to come. I plan on recording on a regular basis now. I sure hope I get my groove back. In the meantime it looks like I have made sitting in a chair talking into a microphone my latest adrenaline delivery system. Does that make it qualify as an extreme sport?