She was real. I sort of actually knew she was. Sort of. A bit of me refused to believe that actually someone actually really a) chose to ride 2,500 miles all in one go b) all alone and c) on a bloody single speed. I mean who the hell does that? The answer was Jenn Hill.
I read the article three times, one after the other. I tweeted that I was too scared of bears to do the same. It never actually crossed my mind the cycling would actually be the hard bit until I rode the length of the Leeds Liverpool Canal which seems puny by comparison unless you know what being 20 stone feels like. But that was inspired entirely by Jenn. Entirely.
Then I met her. And managed to mostly not fangirl at her. But it felt like meeting an almost mythical being, some super human who couldn't possibly be just...Jenn. But of course, as most of you reading this know, she was indeed just Jenn - in this case the kind of girl who found it absolutely normal to push her bike through a bike shop with, no word of a lie, a bloody pot plant shoved in the bottle cage. I remember it as if it was yesterday. Which of course it wasn't.
I instantly liked her. We chatted, we emailed, we got to know each other. We drank coffee together - thanks for tolerating me D, I was super nervous that evening, you were both so...amazing with me.
And this is what Jenn did, you see. She was amazing with people. She had this...thing. Even with me - an anti-social to the point of silliness actually Aspie girl - she just had this thing. This way of being. It was warm and full of sunshine inside her sphere. And even when it wasn't, she was welcomed and adored because even then, even still then she was still as warm as warm can be. And we got it. She got us and we got it. You love even when a piece of someone is temporarily absent. And of course it was counterbalanced. Big silly cheesy grins and dancing as the joy inducing chords of Satan by Orbital cracked across the 53 Degrees springs to mind.
But. Bikkits and coffee. I associate bikkits and coffee with her always. The best coffee mind, she was the person who stopped me drinking Red Bull. Said if I wanted caffeine it was fine but I needed the cleanest delivery method possible. She was right. She usually was, you see. But then someone who's experienced more in their stupidly cross makingly short life than most will ever experience in double the time knew shit. And oh she shared. Freely and with love and care and gentleness. Always gentle. Always always gentle. Persistent but gentle. For someone with a processing delay, we always got there. I always got there.
And so. And so. I have lost a friend who though I didn't see much of late, was dear to me. I have few. I trust little. She gained it patiently and gently. She was and always will be the reason I ride bikes and will determinedly ride then again despite problems with joints and muscles going in unforeseen directions. She was dear to me in a way few are. I adored her. Looked up to her. She was my role model and my ass kicker.
But I can't show that in a way that perhaps is expected because I can't. I am not made that way. She knew that. She did know that. I know she knew that. Because she worked with me and around it without ever actually acknowledging it. Because that was just Jenn. And so this is my and mine. But I wanted to mark that on Friday this world lost a simply amazing human being. An inspiration to literally thousands of women to get on their bikes and ride harder. To do epic shit. To fight harder and fight smarter and fight quieter. She achieved more, thought more, quieted more. She wielded words with such elegance and beauty that to read them was sheer joy. She was passion and enthusiasm about bikes and later about Tom.
She was my friend. And I hurt. But rather than get angry (I have) or cry (I have) instead I will do something quietly. We talked of a thing that was epic. We both wanted to do that epic thing. And so I will quietly and determinedly work towards doing that epic thing.
And in the process, I truly believe, I will find myself again. And all because of a girl who was just Jenn.
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With the greatest of respect and love, I would like to say that Jenn's husband, family and far closer friends than I are truly in my thoughts. All my love to all of you. Ride fast, ride strong.
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