What A Wrong Turn On A Bike Ride Taught Me About Success

Several years ago, while on a weekend trip with my family, a group of us decided to take a day to do a fifty-mile bike ride.

While I like the idea of going on a ride, I treat bike rides like I treat hiking. As a task to accomplish.

I don't hike for fun or because it's relaxing.

In fact, if you find hiking generally relaxing, I can change that in a single hike.

For me, it's about starting at point A, getting to point B as fast as possible, and then returning to point A once again.

Hopefully in time to do something fun that day.

This was the attitude with which I approached this bike ride.

We were going to ride 25 miles in one direction. Stop for lunch in a small town that was at the 25-mile mark, and then bike back to where we started.

That was the plan.

The first 25 miles went well.

I stayed with the group, tried to enjoy the scenery (it was tree after tree after tree after tree), and we made it to the half-way mark about two and a half hours later.

To say this was a leisurely pace is generous. But everyone was enjoying themselves.

(And to be fair, the group consisted of my brother and me, who were both in our mid 30's, while my aunt, my dad, and two family friends who joined were all in their 60's.)

After lunch however, my boredom kicked in, and I wanted to be done.

Not because I was tired, but because I was tired of biking.

So, I talked my brother into breaking off from the group and riding ahead planning to meet them back at home…whenever they finally got there.

We made good time. Really good time.

So good in fact, that we got back to the point where we were supposed to get off the trail much earlier than expected.

The problem was, we didn't realize this. So we kept going, now in the opposite direction of where we needed to go.

After several more miles and muscle fatigue setting in I said hopefully, "We’ve got to be close.”

My brother and I arrived at the grim realization that we really weren’t sure where we were.

We weren’t lost per se. We just weren’t sure if we needed to keep heading the direction we were now heading, or double-back because we’d missed the place where we were supposed to get off the trail. I mean, all the freaking trees look alike!

We choose incorrectly and continued on for several more miles (which we’d then have to ride again minutes later) until we reached a brand new town. One that we knew we hadn’t passed previously.

My heart plummeted.

We’d gone too far…way too far. And we were now both exhausted from riding as fast as we could for the last 25 plus miles.

The worst part is that we found that much of the extra distance we’d tacked on was slightly downhill, so we’d now be forced to ride uphill needlessly for God-knows how long.

Our spirits were surprisingly low as each peddle seemed to take more and more effort, and the fact that we weren’t didn’t know how far we had to go that was really bad.

These are what you’d call first-world problems because we obviously made it, and we were no doubt sipping margaritas (a favorite of my aunt and uncle) later that evening.

What I realized though, is that sometimes you just need to keep peddling. And while you may feel pretty low and may have wasted a bunch of time and effort, you need to finish what you started.

And once we realized our mistake, quickly we were laughing about it and the irony of the situation.

In our attempt to save time, we’d added hours, and many miles, to our ride.

We also could only imagine what ribbing the group of 60-year-olds, who we ditched to save time, would have to say when WE finally made it back.

On January 1st, I publicly declared my intention to write an article a day and post it on LinkedIn.

That was dumb.

Until that point, I’d written a total of I think 3 articles for LinkedIn over the past couple of years. So why I thought going from one a year to one a day was doable is beyond me.

Like I said, dumb.

And while I enjoy writing, to do a half-way decent job I spend at least an hour and usually more like 90 minutes an evening on an article.

This usually begins at about 8:30 because after working out (probably last year’s dumb idea) and making dinner, this is the first time I have available.

But I’ve been doing it, and I haven’t had real setbacks…until tonight…when my computer unexpectedly turned-off for a scheduled update as I was finalizing part three of my series about ‘Seven Ways To Sell More Now.’

I wasn’t that worried because this has happened before and usually, because computers are magic, after opening Word again a little screen pops up asking me if I’d like to recover my unsaved document.

[Pausing for a second to save THIS document]

That didn’t happen tonight.

No matter where I looked or what I tried, the grim realization was that my three pages of pure brilliance had disappeared, lost to the ether.

I sat there, staring at my computer for a minute, trying to get myself to accept the fact that tonight, just 21 days into my 365-day journey, I’d break my promise.

But I had a good excuse, right?!?

Stupid computer restarted out of nowhere, and my article was gone. Surely my three readers (thanks mom) would understand.

But, coincidentally, right now, I’m reading the book ‘Iron Cowboy.’ It’s a true story about a guy who did 50 Ironman length triathlons (that’s 140+ miles a day of swimming, biking, and running) in 50 days in 50 states.

He completes these on little sleep (usually in the passenger seat of a car as it travels to the next state) with blistered toes, aching muscles, bruises, bumps, scrapes, pulls, and tears (literal, physical and mental.)

And while I haven’t finished the book, I suspect he completes the fifty Ironman’s (I don’t think it’s Ironmen in this case…who knows? Grammarly?). So the thought of not finishing my stupid article because I was bummed that my three pages evaporated was not something I could swallow.

I regrouped, poured myself a small glass of bourbon (justifying that I deserve this little luxury due to the circumstances), and started writing what you’re reading now.

I can’t tell you how many times in the years of owning my own business I wanted to give up. Running a business is a series of highs and lows, and they could come just weeks, days, or even hours apart.

One minute you're celebrating making a huge sale, and the next, you're told by a key employee that they’re leaving. Or you’re up all night worrying about where your next sale is coming from, and you wake up to a phone call in the morning from a past client who wants to make a big purchase…fast.

But even though you experience setbacks, some small, some big, some astronomical, you carry on (bourbon in hand if that’s what’s required) and make things happen.

I’m fortunate to be working for a company that wasn’t forced to shutter our doors due to the pandemic that started in 2020. And while the proverbial ship was righted, our biggest event, one that accounts for roughly 20% of our annual revenue, was canceled due to the timing of shutdown.

What started as a great year in 2020 (I believe we were up 25% - 30%) in a few weeks' time saw a 60% swing, and we were now operating 30% below the previous year, and if things didn’t improve, it was gonna get real hairy.

Our owner, and my personal spirit animal, Robin Robins, rallied the troops and got everyone to throw all their blood, sweat and tears into finding solutions and we came out relatively unscathed.

Some jumped like rats, off of what they thought was a sinking ship. Most stayed to make sure it didn’t sink.

While many companies were forced to impose furloughs or layoffs, Technology Marketing Toolkit headcount grew 20%+ by years end. And a new, never-before-conceived-of division was created out of necessity and fully staffed. This division could conceivably become larger than the 19-year-old core business within the next 3-5 years.

As Robin liked to quote during this period, “If you’re going through hell, keep on moving, because you might get out before the devil even knows you’re there.”

It could have easily gone differently, and no one would have blamed anyone. We’d have just been another casualty of the coronavirus.

But we’d have known.

Upon getting to the new town that irrevocably marked our wrong turn, my brother and I could have called my dad to pick us up. We could have let our temporary condition dictate our actions, and again, no one would have cared.

We’d have been done hours earlier, not struggled through some grueling extra miles on what was supposed to be a fun ride, and been sipping margaritas all the same. The margaritas were inevitable.

But we didn’t because we knew that making a wrong turn doesn’t excuse you from finishing your goal.

As they say, shit happens, deal with it. And dealing doesn’t mean you quit.