A Sense of Exhilaration

Arriving at my Classroom.jpg

When Sheila, my first wife, and I moved from Mystic to North Stonington in 1978, we had to adjust to living miles away from just about everything. I could get a gallon of milk or a loaf of bread at the little grocery store in the center of town, but doctors, dentists, pharmacies and stores were no longer just a few minutes away. When our twin sons, Andrew and Jeremy, were admitted to the Happy Time Nursery School at Union Baptist Church in Mystic, the problems of juggling our schedules with one car intensified. I carpooled with teachers to SB Butler School, also in Mystic, but that was not a satisfactory  solution. Our various schedules didn’t always coincide and that meant trying to arrange rides in a haphazard way. Buying another car was not an option. This was before Governor O’Neill increased the pay of teachers in Connecticut. We were living paycheck to paycheck, and too often coming way too close to zero in the bank account a day or two before payday.

At some point, I got the idea of riding my ten-speed bike to school. After a few trial runs, I bought some saddle bags to carry books and school papers back and forth. I got a headlight, a helmet, goggles and a rearview mirror. I also bought a bright yellow vinyl plastic covering for stormy weather. It fit over the handlebars and I sat on the back of it to keep it from flying up in the wind. On rainy days I would arrive at school reasonably dry, although when it was really pouring my pants would get wet from the knees down. Riding in the snow was better because I wouldn’t get wet, although snow would make it difficult to see through my goggles.

I pedaled to work in the heat of September and the cold of January for a little over three years. For the first mile or so in the morning, I rode up a long, steep hill up Route 184 to where it intersected with Jeremy Hill Road. That was a good thing because in the winter, even on the coldest mornings, I would be warm enough to be reasonably comfortable for the rest of the ride. I would sometimes feel a sense of exhilaration on those cold winter mornings. I’d even glance at the drivers in the opposite lane and feel kind of sorry for them because they were inside their stuffy cars and I was gulping in fresh, bracing air.

My route to SBButler took me down Route 184 until I turned off toward Old Mystic. From there I would pedal down River Road. Some of my best memories of this time are of the Mystic River in autumn with mist rising off the water and golden sunlight filtering through the trees on the Stonington side. Going up Baptist Hill toward the end of my nine mile ride could be a real challenge, especially on a warm morning in September or June. There were no showers at the school, so I would get there early to cool down before the kids came to class.

There were times when it took close to all I had to make it home after a day of teaching. In the winter it would be getting dark as I left the school building, so I would take a back-route home. That meant going up Mistuxet Avenue in Mystic, a short but very steep hill that could really take it out of me. I always made it to the top without once stopping to walk.

I have a recurring dream every so often where I’m riding a bike and have five minutes to get to school when I’m ten miles away. Other times my bike tires are square or the faster I pedal the slower I go. Maybe riding a bike to work was unconsciously more stressful than I realized, but at the time, I felt good that I had found a way to solve a problem and keep going. I still do.

 David James Madden