Aging and the Inevitable Gate at the End of the Road

Focus on the Ride or on the Gate?

Let me begin by saying I’m fine.

A recent event coupled with a history of heart attack precipitated my cardiologist to have a closer look at the internal mechanics. Laying on a bed with a 12-lead monitor attached I was ready for the treadmill after an initial ultrasound examination of valves, arteries, and a check for any evidence of a familial aortic aneurysm.

Lying there I wished I had ridden to the appointment. An inquiry the night before with ChatGPT had it stress the stupidity of riding after the test. It listed the possible side effects which could affect my ability to ride safely. It agreed with my wife.

Each of us has an expiration date. As I get older I am more aware of that fact. Many don’t like to think about the topic but I have found an open and honest approach to the realities of life allow me to experience everything more fully. Thinking about aging and the inevitable Gate at the end of the road is a lovely riding metaphor for the predicament that every one of us is in even though we may often be blissfully unaware of the road we’re on. Or worse, in good old denial.

I focus on the ride. And as a result all the good and bad along the way is lighter and easier to accept, deal with, or just let go.

What Triggers the Thoughts?

The older I get the more often I find myself sitting in exam rooms waiting for results, advice, or reminders. I’ve learned a lot in those rooms. As a heart attack survivor I monitor medications, diet, exercise, and stress. Not as closely or as carefully as I should but it has a persistent place in my awareness. As one of the “invisible” diseases it would be easy to ignore or forget about it because generally I feel fine. A small handful of pills every morning reminds me of my situation. And the pain and stiffness in the morning from Psoriatic Arthritis has built in reminders. I’m aware that my medical conditions have the potential to severely affect or halt my riding life. So I pay attention and am grateful that I don’t hide and retreat. I use the awareness like cold water splashed in my face, a reminder to ride while I can. I am lucky to have passions in my life that keep me upright and moving.

Regarding the tests — all good news. No changes since the last one. Everything in the normal range. Stable calcification on the heart valve, same leakage, same normal ejection fraction. My cardiologist rides a big BMW GS Adventure bike. So we he says I’m good to ride he actually understands what I’m doing. The only sad news is he is retiring. It’s unlikely the next cardiologist will be a motorcycle rider.

The medical stuff is easy to manage as long as I’m willing. The more difficult issues to wrestle result from unexpected memories, or obituaries that can trigger sadness and regret. Two recent obituaries of men I worked with shocked me. One because we were almost the same age and worked closely for decades. And the other a professor I worked with when I began my career at Penn State. The memories of both reminded me of how fast time passes.

I’m grateful to not take anything for granted and to wring from each day as much as I can without making myself crazy.

So what do I do?

I ride, I write, I engage dreams that keep me excited to get out of bed in the morning. There’s a rhythm and ritual to my life that works to keep me physically, emotionally, and spiritually limber. And riding always draws my attention away from that inevitable Gate back towards living. Being on a motorcycle or scooter and surrendering to the absolute need of road awareness reveals that the Gate as nothing more than another part of the map of life.

To withdraw or give up is something I will not do. At least that’s what I tell myself and pray is true. As long as my eyes are open I won’t fear the end. I find a reminder in the poem by Dylan Thomas titled “Do not go gentle into that good night.”

I’ll share the first stanza here but click the link for the entire poem.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

If I’m Awake, I want to Ride

Eventually night will come. I’ll find myself at the inevitable Gate at the end of the road telling me it’s time to stop. Riding now will prepare me for that day and I’ll be satisfied that I did all I could to get the last mile out of this mind and body.

For now I ride. And ride. And ride some more.