Climb Every Mole Hill

📅 July 1, 2020

I grew up in a safe neighborhood in a small town during the 1960’s when long summer days were best spent outside.

Our house was on a “Circle,” which today would be called a cul-de-sac, a lollipop-shaped street, with a circle at the end, and nice smooth sidewalks.

Consequently, bike riding was an ideal activity.

Every day I would hop on my Schwinn, proceed down my driveway, turn right onto the sidewalk, gather speed, coast around the circle at the end of the street, then cruise down the sidewalk across the street from my house to the end of the block, cross the street and back to my house. Repeat.

When I became a mom, I put a baby seat on the back of my bike and toted a child. And later, long after the kids gave up bikes, I kept riding for exercise, again blessed to live in an enclosed neighborhood where my route is safe and pleasant.  

A few years ago, I had to give up bike riding when I was stricken with vertigo. Eventually, I cured the condition with daily yoga, which I still do, but the memory of being dizzy was still so ingrained, I could not persuade myself to get back on a bike.

Recently, however, I decided it was time to get outside again, and I asked my children for a bike for my birthday. I ended up trading that one (along with an older bike) for a Cadillac of a bike, a sleek black Liv (female version of Giant) with turquoise and aqua flowers…and a bell…and am riding again with great joy and benefit.

I have ridden every day since February with this past week being an exception.

In the dim hours of dawn in the cul-de-sac on the other street in my neighborhood, when I rounded the curve, my front tire started “thump-thump-thumping.”

I stopped and there was (what I later found out to be) a roofing nail stuck in my tire. I pulled it out and of course, the tire immediately started deflating. I was more than a little put out. 

In all-too-human fashion, here’s what transpired:

Even for such a trivial matter as this, my first thought was “Why me?” Here I am, I thought, trying to take care of my health, out here at the crack of dawn. And yet, I’m stopped in my tracks when I’m “doing the best I can.”

Then: furious at whoever had left this nail behind, and furious at the nail itself, I thought of throwing it with great dramatic flair into the grassy area between two houses.

Beyond that: I was as far away from my house as it was possible to be in my neighborhood. I would have to walk home, when all I wanted to do was go for a little ride.

I started home, wondering if anyone would see me and come out of their house and feel sorry for me and offer to help. Then I could be noble and say, “No, thanks, I’ll make it.”

Here were the conclusions I reached:

The nail in my tire was not a conspiracy or some bad break I didn’t deserve. You live in the world and things happen. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t the fault of the person who lost track of that one nail. It was the inevitable result of living.

I stopped myself from throwing the nail, because I did not want anyone else to step on it or drive over it. Who knows? By jamming that nail into my tire and then taking it out and transporting it home where I could throw it away safely, I may have saved some barefoot child from stepping on the nail and having to go to the emergency room.

Yes, I was a long way from home, but I am blessed with good health and was thankful I was perfectly capable of walking my bike all the way home.  

And finally, the fact is: if I had really needed help and had knocked on any door in the neighborhood, someone would have helped me. Of that I’m certain.

I reached home and called my son, who transported my bike in his truck to have the tire repaired. The bike is back in my garage. And I am back on the road and more vigilant about keeping my eye out for any hazards in my path.

Yes, my first reaction was to “make a mountain out of a mole hill.”

But let’s face it: nobody ever wrote a stirring song called “Climb Every Mole Hill.”

10 Comments

  1. Patty Volmer Higbie

    I enjoyed reading this today.

    Reply
  2. Teresa Haney

    I awoke early this morning and couldn’t get back to sleep just so that I could read this blog before my day began. As I read the first part, I’m sorry to say (not really), I was not with you in Texas. I was riding my bike down Tacon Street in Tampa, Florida, a dead-end street next to the railroad tracks. It was in the late 1950’s. We didn’t have sidewalks like you did but We knew all our neighbors and was perfectly safe wherever I rode.

    The second part of your story brought me back to the present. This time, I saw you, walking that bike while muttering to yourself the whole way. I thought of myself. I often wonder why I handle the “Big Things” (and there have been some big ones) but some of the “little things” really get to me. Your Story was truly inspirational to me. -And I learned (at least the first line of) a new song – “Climb ever molehill” – which is sure to bring a smile to my face as I am learning not to make Mountains out of the many molehills in my life. God is Always in Control! Thank You, Holly, my friend.

    Reply
  3. LaRue Arnold

    It is amazing how many mole hills we turn into mountains! Our thinking is so earthly minded. When we come to our senses we realize how ridiculous we are.
    Well done Holly, miss seeing you.

    Reply
  4. Robin

    Two thumbs up! You are very inspiring and your words are like consuming the best sundae ever.

    Reply
  5. Tana

    Think I’ll try to be thankful for my mile hills from now on.

    Reply
    • Holly Bebernitz

      It is a habit we all need to get into and keep up.

      Reply

Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Holly Bebernitz

Native Texan Holly Bebernitz moved to Jacksonville, Florida in 1967. After thirty years of teaching speech, English, and history on the secondary and college levels, she retired from classroom teaching to become a full-time grandmother. The change in schedule allowed the time needed to complete the novel she had begun writing in 1998. When Trevorode the Defender was published in March 2013, the author realized the story of the Magnolia Arms was not yet complete.