It started out as just another pleasant bicycle ride in the Tuscumbia countryside. This fifty-mile century was called the "Coldwater Ride", based on a historical connection that Tuscumbia had with that name. It was an event I had participated in the previous year with much enjoyment. And I had no reason to believe this year would be any different. That is, until I heard her voice: "..you see these scars on my legs? I was attacked by dogs at the top of Grant Mountain during a bike ride. Look!" I knew I should have looked away, but I couldn't help it - I had to turn and stare at the big purple scars on her thighs below her bike shorts. Only my husband knew that I was still struggling with bad memories of a dog encounter of my own. Less than one year before the ride, I was walking peacefully down a street in my own neighborhood one morning. As I came to the corner, two big dogs, a yellow lab and a German shepherd, came running out to meet me. They seemed very excited to see me; even playful. It did not occur to me to be alarmed . . until the yellow lab started attacking me. My screams brought the horrified owners out of the house, and they pulled the dogs away from me, and restrained them.

All this was going through my mind as the dog-bite woman related the account of her ill-fated ride, and showed off her scars. By the time the ride began, I may have looked okay on the outside, but inwardly, bad seeds had been planted. Soon my husband rode up alongside me. He was his usual upbeat self: "Beautiful day, for the ride, huh?" "Uh, yeah, great," I replied. As we rode, I tried not to think about danger, or dogs, or sharp canine teeth . . . The route was very scenic, and the weather pleasant. But I had become too preoccupied to enjoy anything about this event. Eventually we came to the steepest part of the ride: LaGrange Mountain. It was a challenge for me to keep inching up the slope. I wanted so badly to get off my bike and walk, but I forged ahead. With every turn of the pedals, my strength ebbed away, and so did my confidence. What would the road ahead hold for us, I wondered? What if there was a wild dog pack, looking to take out an unsuspecting, weary group of cyclists like ourselves?

Finally I reached the top of the mountain, totally shot: mentally from all the wild things I was imagining, and physically from the exertion. Then, I saw him - a big dog, running out at us from nowhere. To my horror, he stopped right next to me. He paused, stared at me intently, reared up on his hind legs up against me, and - started wagging his tail. Yes, yes, he just wanted to be petted! But it did not matter. Friendly dog or not, by that time I was a basket case, and I burst into tears. We managed to leave Mr. Friendly behind, and rode on a little farther to a country store. I went inside, bought a snack, and then laid down on a bench alongside the building.

Up strolled my husband. "This is great!", he exclaimed, munching on some peanuts. "Only thirty six more miles to go. You're doing great!" I just looked at him. As he looked down at me on the bench, the truth began to dawn on him. "You're not going any farther, are you?" "Nope." "You probably want me to go get the car and pick you up, don't you?" "Yep."

So, he did. And that was the last time I did the Coldwater ride. A ride to remember? You could think of it that way. It was a ride I wanted to remember to forget. The lesson learned? A simple one: Like it says in one of my favorite proverbs: "Guard your heart with all diligence, for out of it flow the wellsprings of life." When the dog-bite woman started talking, it was time for me to "guard my heart": I should have visited the restroom, plugged my ears, anything but listen. As it was, I allowed my heart to become saturated with fear, and it ruined the ride for me.

In closing, let me say: There is nothing wrong with having a healthy respect for possible dangers. But when you have taken all reasonable precautions, then it's time to rein in your imagination. Don't try to imagine every possible bad thing that could happen - you might just miss out on the good things around you that are happening. Next time? Well, if there is a next time, I will wear an important piece of riding equipment: a Walkman headset!