June 2021 – Twelve days ago a cardiologist inserted two stents in my heart to open up a nearly complete blockage of my left anterior descending (LAD) coronary artery and a small bifurcated vessel near it.  Now I am preparing to undertake a 120-mile bike ride.  I told the cardiologist about our plans when he was telling me what to expect in the recovery process.  He said most patients go on with their lives and resume their normal activities within a few weeks.  He saw no reason for me to skip the bikepacking trip, just pay attention to how I felt and do no more than I was comfortable with. 

When we originally planned the bike trip, I characterized it as a relatively easy ride.  We were riding most of the Trail of the Coeur d’Alene, followed by an out-and-back of the Hiawatha Trail.  The first trail was mostly flat and paved, and the second was all downhill one way and all uphill on the return.  But we were doing this, along with two other couples, all on e-bikes.  I knew the power assist along with all of the gear options would be there to mitigate anything I found too aerobically challenging.  Still, when we started down the trail, I was nervous – how would my heart feel?  Would I have pain?  I hadn’t told our friends about my heart attack (I’m sorry…).  I didn’t want them to be afraid of having me along, or to see me as weakened, as a liability.  Our trip was supposed to be about having fun and enjoying each other’s company, not constantly watching me for signs of distress.  I wasn’t ready to disclose my potential vulnerability unless absolutely necessary.  I trusted that the doctor knew more than I about what activities I could do safely, even if it seemed unbelievable to me that I could just go on with my usual pursuits almost as though nothing had happened.

As we left our staging area at an RV park in Cataldo, Idaho, I chose not to use power assist to help me move the e-bike down the trail, despite it weighing around 65 pounds without gear, and probably 80-85 pounds with loaded panniers.  In my characteristic fashion, I wanted to test my boundaries and see what I could do now with newly opened heart arteries.  I imagined I should feel better and stronger during any aerobic activity now that my heart was not trying to push oxygenated blood through a pinhole in the LAD artery.  I felt good, and I seemed to be riding comfortably, but didn’t detect a surge of newfound energy.  I chalked this up to my heart still needing some recovery time.  As the miles rolled by under my tires, I added a bit of power assist to keep from pushing myself too hard unnecessarily.  Marty checked on me regularly during the ride.  He would pull up alongside me, quietly asking how I was doing and cautioning me not to overdo anything.  He knew my indefatigable mindset and wasn’t convinced that I would be conservative.  He’d had more than enough of my “I can tough it out” attitude and how my denial could have cost me my life, but for the grace of God.

The trail passed through mixed conifer and deciduous forest for several miles.  Dappled sunshine broke through the wooded canopy, warming my face.  As the sun began to heat the cool morning air, the familiar smell of warming pine needles wafted about the trail.  I caught the scent in pockets of air as I rode along the trail, triggering memories of my early years discovering my love of the mountains and wild places.  The smell of pine needles was an endorphin for my body, introducing a sense of calm and peace.  My senses were alive.  I was alive.  We rode along, passing through the wooded section of the trail and into open meadows and along a causeway that spanned the Coeur d’Alene river as it flowed into marshy ponds and then to Anderson Lake.  Large lily pads decorated with bright pink flowers filled the ponds along the trail.  I stopped to take a picture and take in the totality of the scenery; hills, meadows, trees, and water, all brightened by the sun.  This is the life I treasure, the life I want.  The opportunity and physical ability to explore and experience, to immerse myself and all my senses in the environment that surrounds me, and to share it with people I care about.  I knew those moments were a tremendous blessing.  That I was present and able to do this bike ride given my recent heart attack was an incredible gift.

It was only mid-June, but already the days were growing hot.  Heat is my nemesis.  Whether it is dry heat or humid heat, it always saps my energy, so as the temperature rose, so did my concerns about whether it was the heat causing me to lose steam or my heart.  Fortunately, we rolled into Harrison by mid-afternoon and found our B&B to get out of the heat and into an air-conditioned space.  I was tired but there wasn’t any of the burning-type pain I experienced before my heart attack.  Over the next few days as our bike adventures continued, I began to trust more in the stent fix of my heart and regain confidence in my body.  We continued riding the trail to Plummer and back, returning to Harrison for another overnight stay, and then back to Cataldo the next day where our trailers were parked.   We moved on to the Hiawatha Trail after breaking camp the next morning, and after completing that ride, rewarded ourselves with a stay at Quinn’s Hot Springs Resort to soak our tired muscles.  We enjoyed the rides, trail-side lunch breaks, and dinners together in the evening, swapping stories of adventures and our lives, each bringing our unique experiences and perspectives to the conversation.  The days were rich with depth of life, yet simple in their activities.  It was precisely what I needed to begin healing my sense of safety and stability, to reassure me that the life I wanted and treasured could continue as it had been.  I was able to ride the full distance of all of the trails we planned without incident, and my secret disaster remained a secret.  My only complaint was getting used to taking a handful of medications twice a day when I had never taken any before.

Within a few days, we completed our journey and were back in Montana, putting our RV in storage and preparing to return to Alaska.  We said our goodbyes with no one but Lynda and her husband having been the wiser as to our unscheduled stop at the hospital in Idaho Falls.  I knew our biking friends would be disappointed that I hadn’t allowed them to be supportive, but I needed to have some confidence in my recovery first.  Besides, the crisis seemed to be a past event now.  What could anyone do or say about a past event except that they were sorry it happened?  I didn’t want my friends or family to worry unnecessarily about something that was, by all indications, resolved.  The miracle of modern medicine made it possible for my life to go on much as before, except for the daily drug regimen.  There seemed to be little urgency to talk about it until I felt ready, if at all.

As we flew back to Alaska, I reflected again on how God seemed to have his hands all over my life.  The heart attack was just one of many events during my life where what I perceived as a crisis ultimately became a blessing.  These events wove the fabric of my faith.  Although I couldn’t see how a heart attack could be considered anything but a crisis, or whether or how it might play a positive role in my future, I knew important lessons would reveal themselves in time.  For now, I focused on gratitude for the preservation of my life, for the doctors and nurses that tended to me, and for the good health that helped avoid any permanent damage to my heart.  But I also prayed that God would hear my plea – if my attention was needed, I was listening.  No further calamities were necessary for me to pay heed to whatever purpose this event was intended to serve for me.  But that prayer would not be granted.