“I want to do an 2-day ride with you.” Gary Schommer and I were rolling over the hills in Wisconsin’s dairyland. It was July, at the annual Summer Family Vacation of Communion and Liberation. Fr. Luigi Giussani, founder of CL, believed people who follow Christ need to go on vacation together—to help one another follow Him more closely. “What you do with your free time shows where your heart is,” he would say. This was free time. Gary and I found ourselves in the saddle, on the road.

Two words in Gary’s invitation grabbed me: “…with you.” He’d done a 70-mile ride earlier in the summer. Now he wanted to do two, back-to-back. Fine. Why with me? Miles in the saddle with Gary have taught me: His reason for the ride helps me see mine. Maybe that’s true for him, too: “I want to ride…with you.” I needed to say yes.

So it was that we met in Sauk Centre, Minnesota, around noon on a lovely Sunday in August. In a flash we were peddling on the Lake Wobegon trail, which would become the Central Lakes Trail, and take us to Fergus Falls, 70 miles distant. These are “Rail Trails”, converted from old Railroad beds to recreational use. Because the railroads tried to eliminate every steep grade, these roads are worlds apart from the grinding climbs and precipitous descents of the “Rocky Mountain Reprise”. So, my cycling coach thought I should be able to average 15 miles per hour on both days of this journey. Could I do it? Could Gary? Why would we want to try?

The wind was in our favor the first day. On the early miles, we seemed to be flying, with relatively little effort. I soon found myself a coach, tempering Gary’s initial enthusiasm. “We need to pace ourselves. This is a long ride, and we’re barely started,” I said with the assurance of a seasoned veteran. Well, that’s what I am when it comes to cycling, I guess. I was intrigued to notice the certainty with which I spoke these words—like a coach. Or a father…

Why did people go to all the planning and strenuous labor to stretch these asphalt roads across the prairie? Or to lay the iron rails before that? So two men would ride their bikes through, and enjoy, and wonder—is that enough reason? One could calculate the time, money, and effort. Is it worth it? This hot, humid afternoon, our hearts simply said, “Yes.”

Under a picnic shelter in Ashby, stretching and resting, we struck up a conversation with a recumbent cyclist. He declared, “Well, you’re heading into the ugly part of the trail now—Ashby to Dalton. Dalton to Fergus Falls is beautiful again.” He thought there were too few trees on this stretch, and it was too close to the highway. I wanted to scream: “Isn’t it possible to encounter beauty, even on what one thinks is an ugly stretch of road?” Gary and I talked about that question, as we traversed that “ugly” stage. It was, indeed, beautiful.

Around this point, I checked my bicycle’s speedometer. It said we were averaging just under 16 miles per hour. “Shall we go for 16?” I laid the challenge down, and Gary picked it up: “Let’s do it!” So, I began to “drive” the ride, pushing, pushing, but with a beautiful smoothness. Gary was right there. It was wonderful!! Great fun—and we made 16!

After lots of food and good conversation at Pizza Inn, a refreshing shower and restful night at Motel 7 in Fergus Falls, we hit the trail again. Monday morning brought a headwind. We had yesterday’s ride in our legs. This may be a different story, I mused. Gary reinforced it: “I won’t be riding as hard as yesterday.” I secretly held on to the hope of a 15 mile per hour average.

Headwind and tired bodies notwithstanding, the prairie country beckoned with its enchanting beauty. So did our companionship. We spoke of many things, including those we carried with us on the road. Gary told stories of his parents, his wife Joi, and his children. I told stories of my family, priestly brothers, people in parishes and in the hospital. Of course, the stories held a lot of struggle, sacrifice, pain, as well as great joy. Worth it? It seemed we didn’t need to say, “Yes.” Our whole being said it. At a certain point, Gary told me he was offering the ride for his family. It seemed so good—so natural, so human. Have I ever offered a ride for anyone? Memories flooded my mind. Oh, yes, I have. “What you do with your free time shows where your heart is.”

As we rolled on, on, and again, on—Gary seemed amused. “What are you thinking?” “Here we are—a free day, gorgeous weather. What do we do with it, for fun? We puff and pant, sweat and groan, our legs hurt, and the sun beats down on us!” he reflected. I couldn’t help but answer: “Ah, good old-fashioned misery—there’s nothing better!” Worth it? No question....

Back to that training goal—15 mph, average speed. “Maybe I can speed up a bit, Gary will respond, then I can speed up a bit more…” I secretly plotted. It worked for a long time. Early on, my speedometer said only 11. 5 mph. We slowly pulled it up over 12. “My computer says we’re averaging 12.3,” I announced. “Mine says 12.5,” Gary shot back, “I like mine better.” “I told you, you’re faster than me,” I rejoined. It seemed a good, creative tension, trying to meet that goal, knowing we probably wouldn’t, without losing our togetherness.

I’m more used to these longer rides than Gary. He showed signs of tiring, and wasn’t afraid to admit it. I, too, was tiring, but afraid to admit it. Perhaps I can learn from Gary. It was a privilege to ride those last painful miles with him. I found myself encouraging him, with all truthfulness: “You’re really doing very well.” It wasn’t just words, but a fact. At the end, I congratulated Gary on his accomplishment. I am proud of him. I marveled at how this ride brought out this encouraging quality in me, and the ability to rejoice at another’s achievement. Like a coach, or better—a father…

Gary had to leave for home, but I still had time to go for a “century” (100 miles in a day). There was also that 15 mph goal. Gary and I ended up at 13.3 (his speedometer showed a higher speed, I’m sure). Surely I can bring it up to 15! I knew deep down I couldn’t, but had to try anyway. So I explored the Lake Wobegon Trail through Melrose to Freeport, and back to Sauk Centre: 108 miles. Average speed? Still 13.3. Couldn’t budge it past what Gary and I did. There must be a lesson in that…

What was the goal, anyway? Perhaps it isn’t to be measured in miles or miles per hour. Perhaps it isn’t to be measured at all. Could the goal be to become a human—something that submits only to an infinite “measure”?

Years ago, asking God about bicycling, I seemed to hear, “Do it! Enjoy it! Remember, though, it has to do with all of life.” Is all of life “worth it”? Perhaps there is someone to be met on the road, who awakens a sure “Yes.”