Jimmy Beh

Over the past (almost) month, I toured around Western Europe on my bicycle—from Athens to Amsterdam. This bicycle tour, however, included trains and ferries, and, in many ways, became more of a European wandering than a bicycle tour. I ended up riding half as many miles as I had planned and I stayed in places that were never part of the original itinerary, yet the trip was still filled with meaningful experiences and important lessons. Here are some of my insights from the trip that I hope to carry with me moving forward. 

Start with a few personal goals and even fewer expectations:

The last time I set out on a bicycle tour was two years ago, just north of Seattle. That ride was specifically set up as a fundraising ride for my good friends’ nonprofit. This meant that the rhythm and purpose of the ride came down to performance—how fast and how rugged can we make it across America in order to inspire donations.

This time around I was not riding for a fundraiser, which provided more freedom on how to approach it. It also meant that the details around the trip and linking up with my friend and riding companion, Payton, became an elusive target. Dates changed. Locations changed. Routes changed. The only thing I knew for certain was I had a plane ticket to Athens and Payton was there waiting for me.

With such few details locked down, I found myself unable to take comfort in a well laid out plan (despite my attempts to plan the route for weeks leading up to my departure). Instead, I turned to creating a few personal goals for the trip to help guide my actions and ease my nerves. The goals were simple. 1.) Finish (i.e. stay safe and be honest about my needs) and 2.) Remain open and sensitive to the experiences of each day.

As I sit here now, back home, I am extremely grateful for the loose structure these two goals provided for me. They helped me let go of comparisons and expectations so that I could develop my own rhythm and purpose for this trip. This rhythm did not abandon the need for physical performance on the bike, but, rather, it helped make room for the many other important aspects of the experience.

Go into all Four* Rooms—daily:

“ There is an Indian proverb or axiom that says that everyone is a house with four rooms, a physical, a mental, an emotional, and a spiritual. Most of us tend to live in one room most of the time but, unless we go into every room every day, even if only to keep it aired, we are not a complete person.“

Rumer Golden

I was introduced to this quote by a friend and mentor during a retreat we did together this past Spring, and I found myself returning to it time and again. However, as time went on, I felt there was something missing in the quote, or at least, how I was implementing it. It then occurred to me that this quote was primarily about our interior life and I was struggling to connect it with my constantly changing exterior experiences on the road. This led me to create a fifth room– the front porch. An entry point for my four rooms to the cultures, people, and places I was passing through. 

This mindset brought with it a whole new discovery of connection. I felt I was better able to find depth in both the interior and exterior aspects of the trip without being stuck in one or the other. This can be tough to do on a bike tour when you spent 4 hours or more in the country side and then suddenly find yourself in a town center where you do not speak the language. 

Now, this did not erase bad moods or tough days—it just helped provide perspective. Difficult and frustrating moments will always accompany the overall experience, but, if you stick with it, change is usually just around the corner. The trick this practice provided me was the ability to recognize that change is around the corner and that you should not stay wrapped up in just the physical and mental challenges of the day. If you do, you will rob yourself of the diverse wealth that is always present in that new experience or interaction.

A new way to practice gratitude:

Toward the end of my trip, I was reminded of a line from the book, The Way of a Pilgrim, that said something to the effect of, “learn to pray for what you already have.” What a simple and difficult instruction. In fact, it may seem particularly confusing when we think about it in relationship to ambition. In the highs and lows of an ambitious journey, praying for what we already have seems to encourage us to stop rather than to keep going. 

Instead, I found it as a practical expression of gratitude—one that helped me give thanks for where I found myself during my final week of travel rather than frantically pushing forward to avoid some minor inconvenience. I think Tim Krabbé, the Dutch author of the cycling novel, The Rider, captured this sentiment when he wrote, “celebrate the rain by getting wet.”

Whether it is a difficult, celebratory, extraordinary, or ordinary moment, we each have the choice to be grateful for it or not. It does not mean we have to love it or even like it, but we should be grateful for it. And if we are unable to tap into a sense of gratitude in that moment, we can at least try to name and welcome the sensations we are experiencing.

I see this practiced lived out in the life of St. Francis of Assisi who was filled with so much joy— he was able to welcome whatever was happening in the present, and, in doing so, open himself up to something larger than himself. Francis’ Canticle of the Sun captures this quite beautifully. 

To be clear, this orientation is not the same as , “everything happens for a reason,” or “whatever happens, happens,” which I find to be optimistic cliches used to disguise apathy. Nor is it encouraging us to lie to ourselves saying something is wonderful when it painful or difficult. Rather, it is an attempt to honestly recognize that we are all constantly journeying, and that all the events of our trips (and our lives) are invitations for us to more consciously listen, respond and participate in our relationships.