For my Dad’s last birthday my Mom bought him a topographical map that was custom made with our house in the center of the map. In his youth my father liked to go hiking, and had an interest in maps. I think he still might have a collection of old topographical maps rolled up in a tube someplace. The map Mom bought him is framed and hung in the living room.
In general I am not a map person, but I think this topographical map is fascinating. I’m a visual person, and for all of the fact that maps are something you look at, I don’t find them very helpful or reassuring for a visually oriented person. I can look at a map and “find” a place and so “know” how to get there. But I don’t really know how because I discover that when I am driving in a car everything looks much different and besides which, I can’t keep a map in my head so unless I memorize all the turns I have to keep stopping to look at the map again . . . and again . . . and again. I drive by memory and land marks. I replay past trips in my mind and locate myself by landmarks. This can be very useful when you don’t have maps, but utterly unhelpful when you’re going someplace you’ve never gone before. (In that case I like directions from someone who also travels by landmarks and visual cues.)
The point is, I consider maps a weapon of last resort and usually do not look on them with favor. To my visual mind a topographical map is a little more interesting than a plain street map, but it is still only a map. With precise curving lines the changing terrain is delineated, but you don’t really see the land. You don’t experience it. And if you can’t see the rolling land, the forests, valleys, and rivers, what fun is a technical drawing of some far off place?
A topographical map of someplace I am somewhat familiar with is a different story. It gives you a different perspective from which to look at the world you already know. There are ultra-light aircraft that fly over our house and a part of me always envies the pilots. I wish I could soar up into the air, suspended in the sky where I could look down and see the land as it stretches out below. Up there you see the big picture. In the same way a topographical map gives the big picture. It informs my land bound ideas.
In particular, the topographical map hanging on our living room wall helps me place my bike rides, and understand them better in relation to the land. I like seeing how the roads I ride on are funneled by the land into going this way or that. It is fun to figure out what hill I saw in the distance when I sat on my bike, resting. The topographical map of the area around our house gives a texture and perspective to my biking excursions.
Even better, the map gives me ideas of where to take new bike rides. I find the roads I’ve already taken, and look for new and interesting routes to explore. I am always on the look out for a good place to take a bike ride. Especially now that the winter is over and good weather has returned, I like to leave my normal beaten track and go new places on my Saturday ride.
What makes a good place to take a bike ride? For some people the one criteria is how easy the ride will be . . . they want a road that will take them on a generally flat route. For me, it is the opposite. I seek out rural hilly roads.
To some people this is insanity, but to me it all has to do with the sense of adventure. If you ride on a flat road you can see everything spread out flat before you. It is like being stuck in a time warp. You pedal and pedal and the horizon still stays just as far away. Riding through hill country is different. Much different. Sure, climbing a steep hill might make your lungs feel like they are about to explode, but as you strain toward the crest of the hill it is like you are approaching the very horizon itself–you can see nothing beyond, it is the point where all things end–until you reach the top and a whole new world opens ahead, a world you’ve never seen before. In my very strange way, it is my adventure. I don’t know what is over the horizon, I don’t know what surprises await, or what beautiful sights await.
It takes a certain type of person to enjoy finding the hilliest route possible just so you can see the other side. I am that lone lunatic who went pedaling by your house, loudly singing “The bear went over the mountain, the bear went over the mountain . . . . ooohhhh, and what do you think he saw? He saw the other side of the mountain, he saw the other side of the mountain . . .” Yes, I have actually on occasion sung that song to myself as I biked. It is a good biking song, but in a way it is a double sided joke that I think is funny. To everyone else the song speaks of how dumb it is to go over the the mountain–all you see is the other side. But to me that is exactly the reason to go over the mountain. Or the hill.
It’s been quite some time since anyone has gone on a bike ride with me. In the past I would be on a road, just following it, and the people coming with me would begin to flag out. “Rundy, how about we turn around now,” they would say. “How about we go over that next hill,” I would answer. “I wonder what is on the other side of the next hill. Come on, it’s just another hill. It won’t be that hard.”
I’ve learned that hard is relative. I can strain until my legs burn and my lungs are on fire, I can climb a hill until it feels like my heart will burst–and when I reach the top I will end up leaning over my bike, rasping for breath. But I’ve discovered that once I’ve had a few minutes to rest my heart recovers and my breath returns to normal. Far from my lungs being permanently damaged, they actually feel refreshed and invigorated, like when I was a little kid and would run and run and run with boundless energy. So I’ve discovered that hills are not to be shirked, and if you ride up enough of them it becomes less trouble.
But other people don’t have the same constitution. A difficult hill brings me to my raw edges, but in the end invigorates me. Not so for others.
I like sharing my biking adventures, but the last time I persuaded someone to come along I ended up almost riding said person to the point of puking. This person was Lachlan, and it wasn’t on purpose. I wanted to take him on what I thought was a really cool route (read–it had a really steep hill). I somehow managed to convince him to come along and it started out well enough. He could not keep up with me for the hill ascent (I think he actually had to get off his bike and walk it up the worst of the hill) but I kindly waited for him at the top. I noticed he looked exhausted, but didn’t make much of it since we’d just taken a steep hill. We, or I should say I, went merrily on our way until finally at the top of one hill on the way back Lachlan pulled up behind me and said weakly, “Rundy, we’d better stop for a bit. I think I’m going to puke.”
We stopped and I told Lachlan to sit down and take a breather. After some rest he recovered a bit and we made it home without incident. This experience reminded me that when on a bike ride the condition of everyone must be watched, and that not everyone can handle the same amount of exertion. I can push myself to the point where I feel like I’m about to die, but after a couple of minutes to catch my breath I’m ready to tackle the next big hill with all my zest. Other people . . . well, other people will be feeling ready to puke. Which is a pity, because it isn’t quite the same effect when I come home and say, “Well, see, today was a great bike ride. I went over a hill, there there was this long ride down and I saw this stream. Then I went up this other hill and I could see really far and . . .”
But I seem to have wandered a little astray from the map in the living room. A topographical map shows the hills and valleys in the terrain, and the map of our local area showed me that there were still plenty of steep and interesting hills that I haven’t yet explored. The summer lays ahead of me, and I’ve already studied the map. I plan to see plenty of hills and valleys before the fall is over. Then, when I am home and looking at the map on the wall I can match the pictures in my head with the land I see on the map. Then I will know not only how the land around here lies, but also how it looks.
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