Brace for impact
Riding the post-election roller coaster with support from a village

The morning after the election, I was supposed to meet a co-worker from Bike Durango to discuss bike things. However, I was not thinking about bike things. I was thinking about a second Trump presidency and what that would mean for our country.

But after some tears and coffee, and tears in my coffee, I took a few deep breaths, put my jacket on and rode my bike to the library to talk about bike things instead of the election. When I opened the door to go inside, the first person I greeted was an acquaintance who I see every once in a while. The kind of person I exchange quick pleasantries with at her job or the grocery store. We’ll say hello, maybe with a casual “How’s it going?” and the obligatory, “Good, you?”

When I saw her that morning, there were no pleasantries, quick smiles and waves. I walked straight up to her and gave her a hug. We tightly embraced and cried in each other’s arms, because we saw each other’s fear, and we felt what we were up against in each other’s bones. I let her go, and we agreed that if we could live through one Trump presidency, we can do it again, even though I’m not 100% sure we believed it. 

Not really knowing what to say to move forward, I told her it was good to see her and punctuated it with a “Good luck” or maybe a “Hang in there.” But more so, “Brace for impact.”

I saw my co-worker sitting on the other side of the room and collapsed in the chair across from him. He asked how I was. “Not great,” I answered, and we both exhaled a synchronized sigh of disbelief before we moved on to talk about bikes. 

It was cathartic to think about something else, about our microcosmic bicycle-centric future instead of the macro mess of the present. It felt good to plan the small steps in front of us: bringing bike lanes to Durango; growing our organization; and helping folks feel safer riding bikes in our oasis of a town. For just a moment, we focused on the things we felt we could control, all while the world was chaotically crumbling around us. 

When our meeting was over, I rode my bike through the snow to another place I hoped would cradle me in cathartic understanding: my favorite bike shop. I knew I could similarly spill myself into the front door with a heaviness that didn’t need explanation. I knew no one would greet me with fake smiles and pleasantries. I knew we would all be wearing clouds of darkness. We would sigh deeply and then, at some point, start to laugh at the absurdity of it all – and that is exactly what happened.

My friends were there – almost as if they were waiting for me – and we talked about the state of our country, but then we took the weight off and laid it down. We talked about bikes and where we wanted to ride and if the trails would dry out after the storm. We talked about travel and joked about going to Canada or Europe to find husbands, where we could run away and be happy. One friend told me about a date she was looking forward to, and I asked her advice on mine. We talked about music, more about bikes – and then we’d break character to talk about how scared we were about the future. “How did this happen?”

The dark cloud would return long enough for us to release a little more pressure, shake our heads and tell each other how much it sucks. Then, at some point, a beer was cracked and snacks were shared, and the lightness returned. It went on like this long enough for me to feel ready to go home and face my genuine grieving process: shock, anger, sadness, maybe a tiny bit of acceptance and definitely some bargaining. There were questions of why and how. I felt the weight of the safety of our neighbors and community members who are about to start fighting for their lives even more. I felt both grateful for my community and scared for it. 

The weight still hung on me when I woke up the next morning. Was I ready to fight? Did I have it in me? Was I ready to start sliding backwards in time? I thought about this as I paced my house trying to get ready to go downtown to perform my everyday work duties. 

Downtown I usually see a lot of people – many I know and many I don’t know – but I always smile or say hello. I didn’t really know how to go about these interactions today, though. I didn’t feel like smiling or making pleasantries. 

But just as before, when I left the confines of my house and saw community members – friends, colleagues, acquaintances – I didn’t have to put on a front. We all knew that things were weird and heavy. All it took was a hug or a big sigh, and we’d share our feelings. Then we’d talk about bikes or our upcoming weekends and say something like, “It was nice seeing you. Good luck. Hang in there. Brace for impact.”