Dayde Collins handcycling adventures

It’s Monday, the 17th of November and today was probably the last ride of the season. On my way down the canyon this morning I passed four forest service trucks, probably on their way to flush all us humans out so they can lock the gates for the season. Not sure why they needed four separate trucks for that. Not my circus.

I’ve been riding a Maddiline Race XE handcycle since May of 2024. I received the GoHawkeye grant back in September of the previous year but it takes a little while for a custom built bike from Italy to arrive on your doorstep. Today’s ride was my 109th up the Nebo Loop, which starts at the base of the canyon just a few minutes from where I live in Payson, Utah. I’d like to share some of what I have learned and experienced on my bike after close to three thousand miles of riding.

Most of my rides are done solo. I’m counting on the goodness of the universe to help me in the event of a popped tire which I know is a lousy plan. I tell myself I’m minimizing opportunity for catastrophe by staying on paved canyon roads, but yes, it’s still a weak plan. About seven miles into my ride I’ve left behind the rolling hills with their temporary reprieves and have begun the steady, continuous incline that makes up my favorite segment of the trip. It’s here that I get into a rhythm, that flow state where each stroke of the pedals is another stroke calming the tiger within. Then again, I’ve never connected much with cats. Maybe the badger within? Regardless. It’s here during this slow four mile climb that my mind wanders from a focus on my breathing and the shifting of gears to more elevated thoughts of purpose and self.

Sometimes these thoughts become a review of my behavior and personal interactions of the previous day. How did I speak to my kids? How am I showing appreciation to my wife and others who care about me? Gradually a commitment to be better develops, one breath, one pedal at a time. On days where I’ve “been a good boy” of late my thoughts turn instead to my businesses. Just like those who have epiphanies in the shower, my creativity flourishes when I’m on my bike, alone in the mountains, steadily struggling up a hill.

And then of course there are the sunrises, the early-morning bird calls, the leaves changing their colors, the rushing water from the creek, the imposing mountain peaks, and the cows.

You didn’t think the cows would make the list, did you. Well, most of the year they don’t but there’s a few weeks in the spring when nothing comes close to the cuteness of those baby calves. I’ve also learned that as a cyclist, cows are much preferable to deer. Passing a deer going 35 MPH is an invite, nay, a command, to jump out and cross the road. Cows are different. You and I are much less interesting than their pre-chewed grass. It’s been said that reverence is one of the most elevated experiences of the soul. I feel reverence –gratitude-inspiring awe – surrounded by nature on my bike rides. While many of the standard “soul-elevating” experiences of life are unavailable to me because of my injury, reverence is one I can continue to enjoy through cycling.

I said most of my rides have been solo, but not all of them. When a neighbor noticed me returning from rides in the morning he asked if he could join once a week. So it was that oneof my most prized friendships began. Kam (that’s his name) and I are in similar stages of life. We have a lot of the same ambitions and share several beliefs and viewpoints, from a shared theology to a belief that single adult men with no children who complain that their life is hard don’t know the meaning of suffering. At ninety-five minutes to the top, there’s ample room for discussion. While many of our conversations have been flippant, many others have made masons of us both as tongues like chisels chip away barriers made loose through trust, uncovering our deeper doubts and concerns. As we return to our respective garages after a responsive ride, I consider that the only difference between exercise with a friend and a productive chat with a professional therapist is the hefty bill that comes in the mail afterwards.

How grateful I am for my bike! Through this adaptive outlet I have practiced mindfulness and recommitted to those I love. I have made some of my best business decisions and had some of my most clever ideas. My soul has taken on the brightness of sunrises and soared with mourning doves. With friends new and old I’ve made memories, shared laughs, and unpacked angst made for ears placed atop broad shoulders. Truthfully, I am in a better place in all ways measurable because of my handcycle. I thank those at the GoHawkeye Foundation who have made this possible.