Grief

9-11 - Ten Years Later

Words by Richard Belson.
Date: 2011-09-10

I wrote “Grief” ten years ago, at the end of the first big summer of the Whistler Bike Park, and less than a week after three planes were hijacked and flown into buildings on the East Coast of the US. None of us had any idea the indelible mark that day would leave on the world, nor could we even fathom how vivid we would all remember that day, and the emotions that stemmed from it, even one decade later.
 
I remember that ride up the Sea to Sky with Peter Stace-Smith, Elladee Brown, Rick Prorok, and a bunch of other Norco staff and team riders – completely oblivious to the actual severity of the situation.  It feels like it was yesterday, but so long ago at the same time.
 
In the years since, not only has the world changed immeasurably, our lives have, too. Somehow, I managed to move out of PoCo basement suite, got married, lost a dog to leukemia, had a son and moved to California to work for Specialized. Yet so many things seem the same.
 
I still deal with grief on my bike, still make all my big decisions rolling on singletrack, and find a Zen-like state in the anaerobic euphoria I get on long, sustained climbs.
 
I don’t want to get all preachy – that’s not my job. I just think it’s just important that we all consider where we were 10 years ago, and how we dealt with the aftermath of 9/11 and that we all look in different places for the help we need to deal with our grief.
 
Those days following 9/11, and most others, I look to my bikes, and I’ll never, ever ride again without thinking about the only day I can remember NOT wanting to ride – because some angry people decided to do something senseless to a bunch of innocent bystanders and change how we all live.
So, I'd generally say enjoy, but in this case, please read and reflect on how 9/11 affected your life, and how you cope with grief.
 
We all need a reminder from time to time.

Grief

Last Tuesday was supposed to be a day off for some of us, so we decided to head up to Whistler and hit the two-for-one deal for a day of descending and fun. As usual, I woke up late (no thanks to my crappy alarm clock) and was running around, thankful that I'd got my stuff ready to go the night before. While I was scrambling to make sure everything was packed, I turned on the radio to see what was up in the world. All I heard between all the silliness and over-played music on The Fox was something about a plane crashing into the World Trade Center. Though it struck me as tasteless, I didn't doubt that the same guys who thought of the Valentine's Day Breakup on live radio would have come up with a prank like this.

 

I passed it off as Fox stupidity and got on my way. Already 15 minutes late to meet my ride, I rushed toward the meeting point and pulled in before tempers had flared too far. The buzz in the parking lot was about New York and the Pentagon. It was then that I knew the story was not a lie or bad joke. Without knowing the true gravity of the situation, we set off for Whistler undaunted.

The sky was blue and the sun was shining...what more do you need for a good day's riding? Despite listening to the news all the way up the Sea to Sky Highway, hearing that the buildings had collapsed, the surreality of the disaster made for a macabre mood in the van. Though there were still the usual comedic stories about rides past and excited anticipation of being among the only riders in the Bike Park on a weekday, there was a subliminal haze that settled, drawing the conversation to the possibility of war and the severity of terrorism in the second Bush era. Somehow our group, eclipsing 15 riders in all, eagerly got on with our day of riding. How often do you get to ride this type of downhill trails all day with a group this big? Really!

After about eight runs, a group of us decided to break for lunch. Those who had seen some of the footage on early-morning news urged those of us who hadn't to check out some of the images on the television in the restaurant. Curious, I did. Only after seeing the images of those two collapsing buildings and its inhabitants flinging themselves from 100th floor windows did it sink in that thousands of people were dying while I was enjoying a day of riding in the sunshine. I then started to think that every one of those thousands of people has a story, a family, a dog and more than a million reasons why they will be missed. And there I was, riding my bike in the afternoon sun. I did a couple more runs, but my heart just wasn't in it. Anyone who knows me is well aware of the fact that I ALWAYS want to ride. Not that afternoon. Not after seeing what was happening to the world. I resigned myself to sitting in the back of the van reading and listening to the world happening immediately outside the sliding door of the minivan and thinking about this peaceful BC afternoon's contrast to the mayhem and devastation that was happening on the other side of the continent.

As usual, we stuffed ourselves silly in Squamish on the way home and I walked into my apartment with a hyper sensitive awareness of my life and the lives that touch me. After the usual enthusiastic greeting from the dog, I made a B-line for the phone to call who matters to me to make sure she and her family were alright. They were. There's something about being away from the people you love when tragedy strikes; even though you know they're fine, there's this overwhelming urge to be near them, just so you know first hand that they're alright.

Wednesday was a write-off at work. I'm paid to write stuff. How can you write anything when all you think about is the suffering of innocent people? I took some solace in writing a letter to all the Norco vendors and suppliers, offering them our condolences and aid to anyone stuck at Vancouver airport. At least it was something. I got home that night with little to do but stew, so I went for a ride. This wasn't one of those crazy, mayhem-filled rides that brought me to BC nine months ago. That Wednesday night I clipped into my SPD's and pointed the front wheel of my Cross Country bike up. I left the house at 6:30 and climbed until I could no longer see three feet in front of me. During that hour and a half, not only did I scale Burke Mountain's fire road, I grappled with all of life's great questions; most of which fall into the "Why?" category. Though I came up with no new answers, my visit to the mountain bike church for reflection and contemplation allowed my brain to wrap itself around the tragedy and start dealing with the devastation.

While many flocked to places of worship over the course of last week, I went on four solo rides, ranging from that Wednesday night climb up Burke to riding Starfish and Boundary with some cool guys I ran into while riding up the access road on Fromme on Sunday morning. No matter who you are or where you're from, what religion you celebrate or what language you speak, the events of last Tuesday can't help but affect your life. The thing that makes each of us unique is how we deal with the grief. If you have taken solace with your pastor or rabbi, gone to pray at temple or even just hugged a loved one and cherished the life you have, you have had to find peace with this tragedy. My peace came with a phone call to someone I love and riding alone in the mountains of British Columbia, which to me is about as close to God as I'll ever know.

Rich Belson

How did the events of ten years ago affected your life? Has their been a lasting impact? Remember here...