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Going My Way?
What a bicycle built for two did to our marriage
By Rachael Phillips | posted 9/12/2008
 2 of 4
At that moment, we passed a female biker who guffawed and pointed at me: "Hey, you—start pedaling!"
"She'd quit on her partner," Steve said. "You wouldn't."
My man trusted me. I was truly touched.
But I had to trust him, too, since he controlled our direction. What if a crazed farmer roared his tractor into our path? I'd never see what hit us. Maybe I could have avoided it. But Steve had shown confidence in me. Could I do otherwise?
That's when I remembered the next marriage lesson: mutual trust and teamwork move partners ahead. If we fight each other about who's going to lead how, when, and where, we'll only spin our wheels. There will be times when he leads and times when I do. When the non-leading partner supports, encourages, follows, and keeps pedaling, we move a lot further down the path.
Talk to me!
Panting, I grabbed for my water bottle. Out of reach!
I plunged again, nearly standing on my head.
"What are you doing?" Steve shouted.
The unforeseen shift of my weight as listed on my driver's license might have destabilized us. My actual poundage sent us careening across the road.
"Yell before you move!" Steve snapped.
Further on, we hit a huge pothole. I said nothing.
I couldn't. My incisors were embedded in my lips. But I finally managed: "Sadist! Why didn't you tell me that was coming?"
Silence. Then, "Sorry. Forgot you can't see ahead."
Martian couples may possess mental telepathy, but we don't. Thus, we re-learned another marriage lesson: communicate or crash. When we talk to each other, we stay connected and active. Silence is deadly.
The next time I need a drink, I've learned to let Steve know before I lean forward. And now he warns me when he sees a pothole that he could potentially hit. He warns me before hitting the brakes and thereby avoids pedaling me 15 extra miles to the hospital for the smashed face I received.
Talk is cheaper. Really.
Yes, I forgive you. Now please remove the dog's teeth from my leg.
Our communication regarding starts, stops, water bottles, and potholes made us face the most difficult marriage challenge: forgiveness.
A pair of canines highlighted this. By law, every farmhouse comes equipped with a snoring monster roused by a tiny, yapping insomniac. The first time we encountered Lassie and Lucifer, I followed my instincts:
"Go!" I shouted as I pedaled for my life.
Steve slammed the brakes, yelling and kicking at the dogs.
I nearly landed on his handlebars. Somehow, we escaped our pursuers. Barely.
When we later conversed in printable fashion, my husband defended his Dog Disaster Plan: Dogs always outrun cyclists. Besides, his method alerts owners, who dislike human roadkill by their mailboxes.
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