THE FIRST THING YOU SEE as you come into Chuck Howes's office is a gleaming 18-speed Serotta with light touring tires and a duck-cotton saddlebag. It's one of the "trusty steeds" on which he commutes to work, rides for pleasure, and participates in long-distance events.

Ever since Howes leapt into the saddle of the shining new Schwinn coaster bike with whitewalled tires he got for Christmas at age six, he has felt an extraordinary exhilaration. First, from that special bonding of boy and bike, then as a way to relax after the rigors of the classroom, and more recently, as a way to beat soaring gas prices. He loves to let the wind blow through the vents of his riding helmet as he challenges the hills and valleys of his adopted state of Massachusetts. "And one of the most wonderful things about it," he says, "is that there's not a lot that separates me from a kid in Kenya, Switzerland, or Brazil, or anywhere else in the world, out on a bicycle for the first time."

Apart from his frequent 60-mile roundtrip commute to the office, and weekend training rides of 70-100 solo miles, he likes to tackle what are called brevets, long-distance rides with checkpoint controls and a time limit. He has completed the premier American brevet or randonnee (French for excursion) three times. This is Boston-Montreal-Boston (BMB), a demanding 1,200-kilometer (750-mile) ride that has to be finished in 90 hours (3 3/4 days) to receive a medal.

Howes says he doesn't follow rigid diets or nutritional guidelines when preparing for a big event, but, as a Christian Scientist, spends time in prayer. "On long rides you're not usually riding in a pack," he points out. "You have a lot of time alone—quiet, focused time. You have such wonderful opportunities to be with God and really count your blessings. I get through a lot of hymns.

"For example, how could any cyclist—especially those of us who ride through mountain passes at night—not feel inspired by a hymn that begins:

"And many times I have been strengthened by these words:

"With prayerful thoughts like those," explains Howes, "I always feel wonderfully protected in a sport in which careening down mountain passes at 40 to 50 miles-per-hour isn't unusual. But I've found that your vigilance shouldn't be fostered by fear, but strengthened by alertness—by spiritual watching. Watching thought, more than watching out."

Howes says that his prayers on long, remote stretches of road often focus on Mary Baker Eddy's observation that "man is properly self-governed, and he should be guided by no other mind than Truth, the divine Mind." Also that "the Christian Scientist is alone with his own being and with the reality of things" (Message to The Mother Church for 1901, p. 20).

"How can you be alone if you're alone with?" he asks. "With God. With His love. You're accompanied by your thoughts of God's presence—His care, His strength, His guidance. My being is inextricably linked with God's nature, which is the only reality that counts. Sometimes you groan and huff and puff as you climb hills, then lose your breath in a different way as you sail through beautiful vistas on your way down. On night rides, the stars and the moon are just unbelievable. At times like that, I realize that joy is joy, and it doesn't really need an audience. It doesn't need to be applauded. It just is. Joy in bike riding isn't dependent on ideal conditions or geography or weather or companionship. All you have to do is tap into it."

Two years ago, on a 400k brevet (250 miles) from the Berkshire Hills in Massachusetts to Saratoga Springs, New York, and back, Howes crashed one third of the way through the ride, while traveling at about 20 mph. "I was pretty scraped and bruised," he recalls, "and couldn't use my left arm. My helmet was cracked, and I was in a lot of pain." Howes prayed along the lines of his spiritual study earlier that day. Two riders who had come to his aid were convinced he had broken a collarbone or had a separated shoulder. But Howes soon felt confident enough to return to the road.

"For the next 35 miles, those two guys rode behind me to observe me," says Howes. "They were pleasantly surprised at how well I was coping with the use of just one arm. Despite their astonishment, they kept calling, 'Keep it up. You're riding OK. You're holding a nice tight line.'

"Every time the pain was rough, I just kept recounting my blessings, mentally expressing gratitude, rejoicing in the fact that the divine Mind was in control. Several people—including the staff at a bike shop I stopped at to purchase a new helmet—offered painkillers. Each time I explained that I rely on prayer, not medication, for healing. They seemed to understand this, and these friendly exchanges left me free to deeply acknowledge my oneness with God. I rode another 160 miles that day, praying as I went along, and I finished strongly. As a result of continued prayer, I made steady progress, and soon had full use of that injured arm."

Long-distance riding is much more mental than physical, Howes explains. "Riders typically don't take in the sweep of an entire ride and feel comfortable with the distance. It's too much to contemplate. But when you get a cue-sheet for a long ride—with the checkpoints and distances carefully listed—your mind adjusts more easily to thinking from checkpoint to checkpoint. You say to yourself, 'I'm doing another 50, not 500 miles, and I can definitely manage that.' You take fresh heart, as with so many challenges in life. Humans seem to accept a very narrow band of comfort level. And cycling, like several other sports, punches holes in that. You learn to press on, one stage at a time, broadening your comfort zone with patience, persistence, and courage."

Howes's interest in long-distance cycling began about 15 years ago when an animated co-worker slapped his thighs one day and announced proudly, "Hundred-thousand-mile legs!" Howes didn't think much about that until the colleague explained that over the previous 14 years his legs had carried him 100,000 cycling miles on his daily commute to the office from the suburbs. "I gave it a try and enjoyed it," recalls Howes, "and have never looked back."

He says that part of his enjoyment lies in breaking through limits people think exist. "Once you've triumphed over something, especially distances, it's never that hard again. And this applies to many sports, and most branches of learning. Once you've mastered something, it's personal bests you're looking for, though sometimes a personal best has to be reconfigured."

This relates to an experience Howes had last year. The day before his third Boston-Montreal-Boston ride, for which he had trained hard, he felt himself coming down with the flu. He had to decide whether he wanted to be recorded as DNS or DNF—Did Not Start or Did Not Finish. Never an easy decision. He thought of the long mountain climbs ahead, especially Middlebury Gap in Vermont, with an average grade of 12 percent over about eight miles. Altogether, the ride calls for more than 35,000 feet of climb.

"Over the years," says Howes, "I'd heard riders say it's OK to ride with a cold, but not to mess with the flu. But I knew that nothing could stop me that day from praying to make the right decision or to know myself as a perfect idea of God, not subject to contagion. Quickly, the answer came: Do the ride. But adjust your strategy. Think personal best—but not in terms of time. Keep a steady pace. Don't push too hard. Walk part of the climbs if you have to. Wait a few minutes. Pray. Get your peace. And push on again.

"To make the cutoff time, I couldn't allow myself much sleep on that ride, but I made it. It was my slowest time, but in some ways my best. I had recalibrated. With divine support, I had again overcome adversity. And within two days, I felt fully recovered."

There are two passages that Howes says never fail to inspire him and help him through the toughest tests he faces on a bike: "They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint" (Isa. 40:31).

The other is a passage in Science and Health in which Mary Baker Eddy wrote that God's thoughts are "spiritual realities." She said that ". . . nothing exists beyond the range of all-inclusive infinity, in which and of which God is the sole creator. Mind, joyous in strength, dwells in the realm of Mind. Mind's infinite ideas run and disport themselves. In humility they climb the heights of holiness" (p. 514).

"I love that picture of God's infinite ideas literally and figuratively disporting themselves," says Howes. "Delighting in movement, and climbing the heights. That's the joy I find in cycling." css