한 번은 몽골 단기선교 마지막 즈음에, 테를찌라는 국립공원에서 스무 명도 넘는 우리 단기선교 팀원들과 말을 탔는데, 말들이 영악하게 우리가 외국인이라는 것을 알고 아무리 “추~ 추~”하고 소리를 쳐도 달려주지 않고, 소걸음으로 천천히 걷는 가운데 7살배기 말 하나가 천천히 걷기 담합에 가담하지 않는 것을 알고 팀원들이 숙소로 돌아간 후에 그 말을 지목해서 함께, 에델바이스가 피어서 아름다운 뒷 언덕으로 올라가서 달렸습니다. 걷는 말은 소를 타는 기분이지만, 달리는 말은 내 몸과 말의 몸이 하나되는 기분은 정말 감격이었습니다. “난 틀림없는 기마민족의 후예야!”
그래서 노년에는 말타는 꿈을 꾸었는데 대한민국에서의 말은 일단 크기가 몽골조랑말과는 달랐고, 국민위화감을 조성하리만큼 귀족스포츠라는 사실을 알자마자, 몇 달 전부터 집에 대기하고 있던 산악용 자전거를 끌고 산으로 올라갔습니다. 소년 시절에 짐실이 자전거를 타봤지만, 기어조작이 필수적인 산악용 자전거는 타본 적이 없는 주제에, 처음부터 산으로 갔으니 넘어지고 자빠지고 엎어지고 처박히고 … 모든 종목의 재주를 다하고 간신히 집으로 돌아와서 샤워를 하고 나니 발걸음을 옮길 수가 없었습니다, 그날 시간은 토요일 오후^^ 내일 주일을 어떻게?? 그렇게 산악자전거를 입문해서 첫 사랑은 엄청 뜨거웠습니다.
겨울 새벽 5시는 캄캄합니다. 그 때 마침 새로 만들어 포장한 동네 길 500미터는 서리가 깔려서 반짝거리는 것을 은하수로 여기고, 달려내려가서 냇가를 따라 지나가는 농로를 몇 차례 오르내리면 먼동이 트고, 또 시간이 흐르면 길가의 나무들의 형체가 드러나기 시작합니다. 어둠 속에 헤드라이트를 켜고 오르내리는 모습은 멀리서 보면 도깨비 불처럼 보였을 것입니다. 첫 사랑이 식고 나서는 겨울 새벽에 자전거를 타는 무모한 일은 끝났습니다. 하지만 우리 동네에서 두산 저수지, 석계저수지를 지나 문산공단길을 거쳐서, 관문성터를 지나면 강들과 연결됩니다. 동천강, 태화강, 척과천을 지나서 집으로 돌아오는 총 50여 킬로의 길을 서너 시간에 걸쳐 즐기곤 했습니다.
기억에 남는 일은 울산교회 바이크 팀과 함께 유니폼을 맞추어 입고 임실에서 광양만까지 섬진강 150 여 킬로미터를 무동력으로 달리기도 하고, 작년에는 eMTB로 서울에서 춘천까지 150 여킬로미터를 갔다가 뒷날 내려오는데 길가의 편의점에서 바셀린을 사서 바르면서도 자전거타기를 즐기곤 했습니다. 방학을 해서 오갈 때는 꼭 승용차 뒷좌석에 자전거를 싣습니다. 덕분에 지난 주에는 기장 아홉산을, 오늘은 상북에 있는 고헌산을 즐겼습니다. 늘 문제가 생기면 함께 타는 분이 해결해 주시니 이 삼복더위에도 산에서 자전거를 탑니다. 물론 그늘이 좋은 길을 골라서 가지요. 산위에서 부는 바람은 시원한 바람이라는 것을 온 국민이 알고 있습니다. 그리고 내리치닫는 자전거를 스치는 바람 또한 시원하다는 것은 누구나 상상해도 알 수 있습니다. 건강도 챙길겸 패달링은 하나님이 주신 자연을 즐길 수 있으니 감사한 일입니다.
Towards the end of a short-term mission trip to Mongolia, in Gorkhi-Terelj National Park, over twenty of our mission team members rode horses together. The horses, clever as they were, quickly realized we were foreigners. No matter how loudly we urged them on shouting, "Choo~ Choo~", they refused to gallop, plodding slowly like oxen. Amidst this, I noticed one seven-year-old horse that refused to join the unspoken strike of walking slow. Once the team members returned to the lodge, I pointed out that horse and rode it up into the rear hills adorned with blooming edelweiss. A walking horse feels like riding an ox, but a galloping horse brings the thrilling sensation of horse and rider becoming one. I was deeply moved, thinking, "I am truly a descendant of horse-riding nomads!"
And so, I dreamed of riding horses in my golden years. Yet horses in Korea were far different in size from Mongolian ponies, and realizing that equestrianism here was an aristocratic pastime that might evoke a sense of social disparity, I took the mountain bike that had been waiting at home for months and headed up into the mountains. In my boyhood, I had ridden cargo bicycles, but having never ridden a mountain bike requiring constant gear shifting, plunging straight into the mountains meant falling over, tumbling, tripping, and crashing... After exhausting every imaginable trick of tumbling, I barely managed to drag myself home. Once I stepped out of the shower, my legs simply would not move. That was on a Saturday afternoon! ^^ How was I going to manage Sunday worship the next day? Thus began my journey with mountain biking—and my first love for it was intensely passionate.
At 5 a.m. in the heart of winter, the world is pitch-black. Around that time, imagining the sparkling frost on a newly paved 500-meter neighborhood road to be the Milky Way, I would ride down along the farm road by the stream. Climbing up and down a few times, the day would break, and gradually the silhouettes of roadside trees emerged. My silhouette riding up and down in the dark with a headlight on must have looked from afar like a floating will-o'-the-wisp. Once the initial fever cooled, those reckless midwinter dawn rides came to an end. Still, setting out from our neighborhood, past Dusan Reservoir and Seokgye Reservoir, winding through the Munsan Industrial Complex road and across the Gwanmun Fortress site, the paths connect to rivers. Passing the Dongcheon River, Taehwa River, and Cheokgwacheon Stream, I used to savor a 50-kilometer ride that took three to four hours to circle back home.
Among my treasured memories are riding along the Seomjin River for about 150 kilometers from Imsil to Gwangyang Bay without an electric motor, wearing matching uniforms with the Ulsan Church cycling team. Last year, I traveled about 150 kilometers from Seoul to Chuncheon on an eMTB, and cycling back the next day, I kept on enjoying the ride even as I had to stop at a roadside convenience store to buy Vaseline to soothe the chafing. Whenever vacation comes and I travel, I always load my bicycle into the back seat of my car. Thanks to this, last week I explored Mt. Ahop in Gijang, and today I enjoyed Mt. Goheon in Sangbuk. Whenever troubles arise, my cycling companions readily resolve them, so even in the sweltering dog days of midsummer, I ride my bicycle in the mountains. Of course, I choose paths blessed with abundant shade. Everyone knows that the breeze blowing atop the mountain is refreshingly cool. And anyone can easily imagine just how invigorating the wind feels as it brushes past a descending bicycle. Pedaling not only maintains good health but also allows me to delight in God’s creation—truly, a cause for deep gratitude.
Teen die einde van ’n korttermyn-uitreik na Mongolië het meer as twintig lede van ons uitreikspan saam perde gery in Gorkhi-Terelj Nasionale Park. Die perde was uitgeslape genoeg om dadelik te besef dat ons buitelanders is. Hoeveel ons ook al geroep het: "Tsjoe~ Tsjoe~", wou hulle glad nie draf of galop nie, maar het traag soos osse voortgestap. Tussen hulle almal het ek egter ’n sewejarige perd raakgesien wat geweier het om deel te wees van hierdie sameswering van stadige stappers. Toe die res van die span na die herberg terugkeer, het ek daardie perd gekies en saam met hom teen die agterste heuwels, pragtig besaai met edelweiss-blomme, gaan ry. ’n Perd wat stap voel soos om op ’n bees te ry, maar op ’n galloperende perd voel dit werklik asof mens en dier een word—dit was ’n oorweldigende ervaring. Ek het gedink: "Ek is beslis ’n afstammeling van die ruitervolk!"
Daarom het ek daarvan gedroom om in my goue jare perd te ry. Maar perde in Korea verskil heeltemal in grootte van die Mongoolse ponies, en toe ek besef dat perderuitery hier ’n eksklusiewe aristokratiese sport is wat maklik ’n gevoel van sosiale afstand kan skep, het ek dadelik die bergfiets geneem wat al maande lank by die huis gereed gestaan het, en berge toe vertrek. In my jeug het ek wel met ’n vragfiets gery, maar ek het geen benul gehad van ratte wissel op ’n bergfiets nie. Om reg van die begin af berge toe te gaan, het beteken: val, struikel, tuimel en neerslaan . . . Nadat ek elke denkbare toertjie van val beleef het, het ek met moeite by die huis gekom. Toe ek klaar gestort het, kon ek skaars ’n voet versit. Dit was Saterdagmiddag! ^^ Hoe sou ek die volgende dag die Sondagdiens behartig? So het my reis met bergfietsry begin—en my eerste liefde daarvoor was vuurwarm.
In die winter om vyfuur in die oggend is dit stikdonker. Op daardie tydstip het die vars geteerde buurtpad van 500 meter met ryp geskitter asof dit die Melkweg self was. Ek het afgery en al langs die plaaspad langs die stroom ’n paar keer op en af geklim; dan breek die dagbreek aan en geleidelik kry die bome langs die pad weer gestalte. Die gesig van iemand wat met ’n hooflig in die donker op en af ry, moes van ver af soos ’n dwaallig gelyk het. Toe daardie eerste vurige liefde bedaar, het die roekelose vroeë oggendritte in die winterkoue tot ’n einde gekom. Tog, as ’n mens van ons buurt af verby Dusan-dam en Seokgye-dam ry, deur die Munsan-nywerheidspad en verby die ou Gwanmun-vesting, sluit die paadjies by die riviere aan. Ek het gereeld die roete van sowat 50 kilometer verby die Dongcheon-, Taehwa- en Cheokgwacheon-riviere geniet, ’n heerlike rit van drie tot vier uur voor ek weer by die huis aankom.
’n Kosbare herinnering is toe ek saam met die fietsryspan van Ulsan Gemeente, almal in pasmaak-uniforms, sowat 150 kilometer sonder enige motorbystand langs die Seomjin-rivier afgelê het vanaf Imsil tot by Gwangyang-baai. Verlede jaar het ek weer met ’n elektriese bergfiets (eMTB) sowat 150 kilometer van Seoel na Chuncheon gery en die volgende dag teruggekeer; selfs al moes ek by ’n geriefswinkel langs die pad vaseline koop teen die skuurplekke, het ek die rit terdeë geniet. Wanneer die vakansie aanbreek en ek rondreis, laai ek altyd my fiets op die agtersitplek van die motor. Danksy dit kon ek verlede week Ahopsan in Gijang verken, en vandag Goheonsan in Sangbuk geniet. As daar probleme opduik, help my fietsmaats altyd om dit op te los, sodat ek selfs in hierdie versengende hondedae van die hoogste somer in die berge kan ry. Natuurlik kies ek die skaduryke paadjies. Almal weet mos dat die bries bo-op die berg verfrissend koel is. En enigiemand kan raai hoe heerlik koel die wind voel wanneer ’n mens teen die berg afsuis. Terwyl dit goed is vir die gesondheid, laat die trap van die pedale ’n mens God se pragtige skepping geniet—en dit is waarlik iets om innig dankbaar voor te wees.