Lately, I’ve spent my extra “free” time on my bicycle, preparing for a multi-day, several hundred mile bike adventure with a group of my friends.

My time on the road allows my mind to wander and do a lot of freestyle thinking.

A few weeks ago, I spent more than two dozen miles pondering “What is the definition of success?”

The upcoming event, informally dubbed Bike Up Kansas, started about five years ago. At the time, it did go from the Oklahoma border north to the Nebraska border.

I joined the ride on its second year. I heard so many amazing stories about the tailwind that helped push riders up the state ... I had some expectations.

Yet, when I hopped on my bike for the ride in 2021, we didn’t have that glorious tailwind I heard so much about.

Drat. While I adequately trained for the ride, I was honestly counting on that tailwind to help propel me throughout the trip.

Even without the strong tailwind, day one was a success. I reconnected with one of my teammates from middle school swim team. I enjoyed the vastness of the Kansas sky. I didn’t get sunburned. Lots of success.

Day two dawned, as did my determination.

My goal for the weekend was to ride as many miles as possible. That day’s route would take me into my hometown. I so deeply wanted to ride victoriously down main street and celebrate with my family.

Yet, day two’s terrain was one I didn’t adequately train for — mostly flat with a slight incline — for nearly 50 miles.

Did I mention there was no tailwind? None. Nada. Zip. Zilch.

My attitude took an epic nosedive. I truly cried myself through those 50 miles.

At lunch, I was done. I grabbed a ride to Gypsum, where I hopped back on my bike and rode home. I was infinitely more comfortable on the hilly terrain of central Kansas, and excited to ride into my central Kansas hometown, where my husband, son and friends awaited our arrival.

For day three, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I attacked the day with vigor, determined to celebrate milestones. I celebrated at the 140-mile mark. But mid-morning, I once again hit a wall.

I very dramatically cruised into a rest stop, let my bike fall to the ground, flung myself into a lawn chair and declared, “I’m done.”

After cooling off and snagging a ride to lunch, my logic began to return. I started adding up my miles. I don’t remember the exact number, but it was in the range of 175.

As I regained strength and my good spirit, I realized I was close to another milestone. I knew I wasn’t going to get close to the 300-ish miles my friends would ride ... but I had a mere 20 or 25 miles to go to hit 200 miles for the three-day weekend, and that would be a win for me.

I was sitting at lunch, talking myself into the final leg of that day’s ride. I made my calculations and begged a ride to the optimal starting point.

Crossing the state line into Nebraska, I certainly celebrated a personal victory — riding 200 miles in three days on my bicycle.

As I stood near the state sign, taking photos for other riders as they finished, I saw a fellow rider nearing the end. I was puzzled, because during lunch, she explained she was opting out of riding that day.

Even though I wasn’t sure why she was riding, I stood on the state line, screaming and shouting encouragement for her as she neared the end.

When I quizzed her about riding to the state line, she said, “Well, I heard you talking about hitting 200 miles over lunch, and realized I wasn’t too far from that mark either, so I decided to go for it.”

You truly never know who is watching or what impact your words can have to influence or encourage others.

The second time I participated in the Bike Up Kansas, I had a new goal: complete a century. This is when a cyclist rides 100 miles in one day. It would be my first.

I was better prepared, especially mentally, for the “flat 50” I would ride out of Wichita.

There were still obstacles as I cranked my way toward 100 miles. And there were still tears, specifically as I sprawled on a park bench in Gypsum, sobbing uncontrollably.

Thankfully, my friends and seasoned riders had excellent advice (go into the bathroom, stick your jersey under the sink and cool off ), as well as a cup of pickle juice (hello, salt!) to help perk me up.

The next morning, I chose to sleep in and join my friends for lunch ... before riding to the Nebraska border.

Total miles for trip No. 2: 212.5.

Was that trip any less successful because I “only” rode 12.5 miles more than the first one?

Nope. I rode 100 miles in a single day ... which was a goal I had going into the ride.

This year, as the ride approaches, I ponder what success will look like this time around. Will it mean completing each and every mile of the ride? Perhaps.

But I also have other goals: no injuries to myself or the bike. If weather is a factor, I might not choose to ride, and I won’t feel apologetic about it. I haven’t had significant crashes, but I have tangled with a railroad track or two, and have enough respect for the road to ride what feels “right” for me.

The more miles I ride, the more years I live, I realize that success doesn’t have to be one set goal or definition. Success for me today can look different than it does tomorrow. Circumstances change. Life throws curveballs. And that’s OK.

Success can be as big as riding every single mile. Success can also be as simple as “I didn’t get a sunburn.”

Bonar is the editor/publisher of the I-R and can be reached at kbonar@indyrepnews. com.