Steve Carter lives in Tupelo, Mississippi and has served for over 50 years in Christian ministry. He had peddled across the continental United States, twice. Steve may be contacted by email at: Msroadkill@bellsouth.net
The Extra Mile By Steve Carter
After stowing my camping gear into the equipment truck, I climbed onto my bicycle and rode into the cool, fog-shrouded Black Hills. Following several hundred miles of getting early starts on my cross-country charity ride, I had grown to appreciate it when the sun started to “pink” up the horizon. Kadoka faded from sight while the growing daylight outlined the pitted road toward Pierre, Illinois.
Aside from doing my part in getting the names across the country, I towed it as a way of thanking a very special lady who welcomed my visits to the home she shared with three daughters. As a teenaged rock and roll drummer growing up in central Florida, my life could best be described as “dysfunctional,” on a good day. My status as a social outcast meant nothing to her, and she always greeted me with a big smile and the best biscuits known to man! I included her name in the “chain” because of the lung cancer she suffered. While pulling into camp that evening, I had a smile on my face thinking of this genteel southern lady.
This morning turned out special because I had hooked the “chain of hope” to my bicycle. These covered two-wheeled wagons were designed to carry small children. However, ours served a different purpose. The names of several hundred cancer survivors or those who had died from cancer were That evening, around suppertime, I picked up word looped together in a paper chain, installed in the around camp that the next day’s ride had been declared All Women Day. I perked up my ears to find wagon, and pulled across the country. out what that amounted to. Over twenty years later, Much like the relationships of active church mem- I still do not know where the men who decided to bers, the feelings of community grew stronger daily. participate by riding “drag” came up with the clothI soon found myself more at ease with some of the ing, or the guts to wear them in the mid-western riders than with people I had known for years. With part of America! From a distance, I saw and heard the many words of encouragement ringing in my much hooting and heckling while men tried on fullears, I soon gave way to reflecting on my reasons for length evening gowns, jewelry, shawls, and the like. pulling the trailer. With no feminine side to my name, I had no interest in wearing anything that would likely get caught in my bicycle chain. So, in the twinkling of an eye, I rode alone and stuck to my skin-tight spandex clothing.
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