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Reflections on my mother, the road, and what we are called to build
As Women’s Month ends and as we commemorate Rabi-ul-Awwal, the writer reflects on his mother’s 82nd birthday, the 475 km Hijra Cycle Tour, and the deeper lessons of gratitude, mercy, ageing, community and those who cheer from the sidelines.
By ADNAAN ADAMS
As August draws to a close, we leave behind Women’s Month and enter September, with the promise of spring. We are also in Rabi-ul-Awwal, a month in which Muslims turn their hearts again towards the life and example of our beloved Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ).
And today, another moment arrives in my own life. My mother turns 82.
Perhaps because I have committed myself to the 475 km Hijra Cycle Tour, I have begun thinking differently about the people who accompany us through life. Not everyone rides the bicycle with you. Some stand at the side of the road. They encourage you, worry about you, ask whether you have eaten or rested. And sometimes, without saying much at all, they remind you who you are.
My mother has always been that person for me. Whatever I have attempted, in education, community work, The Muslim Thinker, and now this somewhat daring decision to cycle 475 kilometres, she has been there. She may not always understand every new idea I arrive with, and probably sometimes wonders what I am getting myself into, but she supports me nonetheless.
At 82, she is the last surviving sibling in her family. Her father died when she was only two years old. Behind those simple facts lies an entire lifetime: childhood, hardship, family, motherhood, marriage, loss, perseverance, ageing and memory. We call someone of her age an octogenarian. But an 82-year-old human being is far more than an age. She carries people who are no longer here, stories that may disappear if we do not sit long enough to hear them, and sacrifices her children may never fully understand. It raises a question: How should we treat those who have spent their lives building us?
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The Quran offers a beautiful image regarding our parents: “And out of kindness, lower to them the wing of humility…” (Sura Al Isra, 17:24)
In a world constantly telling us to rise, achieve and make ourselves visible, the Quran reminds us that sometimes human greatness lies precisely in lowering the wing, in service, patience and mercy. Strangely, cycling is beginning to teach me something similar. I am still learning, but the road has a way of exposing you. Enthusiasm is not endurance. You cannot bully a hill into becoming flat. You must learn rhythm, judgement, patience and respect. Above all, you learn to pay attention to the road, your body, the cyclist beside you, the person ahead and the person falling behind. Perhaps that is also a way of thinking about community.
Who are we paying attention to?
Who has fallen behind? Who needs encouragement? Who simply needs someone to travel alongside them for a while? During Rabiʿ al-Awwal, these questions take on another significance. Remembering the Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ) cannot be confined to celebration only. His example continually calls us towards mercy, kindness, dignity and how we encounter another human being. This brings me to a verse that increasingly shapes my thinking:
“And we made you into nations and tribes, so that you may come to know one another.” (Sura Al Hujurat, 49:13)
There are at least two challenges in those words. The first is that knowing requires encountering. We cannot genuinely know people from a distance, through labels or assumptions. Knowing requires listening, curiosity and making room for another person’s story. The second is perhaps more uncomfortable: we can live beside someone for decades without truly knowing them. Ageing should not make a person less visible. It should invite us to look more carefully.
As Women’s Month closes, perhaps honouring women begins not only by celebrating extraordinary women somewhere else, but by recognising the extraordinary lives within our own homes: mothers, grandmothers, wives, daughters, aunts and sisters whose names may never appear on plaques or awards, but without whom many of those receiving the awards would never have reached the stage.
My mother will not cycle the Hijra route, but she is part of this journey. The bicycle is teaching me that progress is not simply about how far or how fast we travel. It is about what the journey is forming within us. Am I becoming more patient? Less judgemental? More attentive? Kinder?
If I complete 475 kilometres but emerge no more compassionate than when I began, I must ask what exactly I accomplished. And so, the question accompanying my ride continues to grow:
What are we prepared to build within ourselves, within our communities and for those who come after us?
Perhaps the answer begins at home. Build gratitude. Build patience. Build respect. Build the capacity to listen. Build communities where our elders are not merely accommodated but honoured, and where those who spent their lives carrying us discover that we are prepared to carry them too.
Today my mother turns 82. My greatest supporter will probably remain where she has always been, watching, worrying, encouraging and cheering from the sidelines.
But I am beginning to understand: those on the sidelines are not outside the journey.
Sometimes, they are the reason we are able to ride at all.
Happy 82nd birthday, Ma! This ride is for you.
Adnaan Adams is a Hijra Cycle Tour 2026 rider. He can be contacted on WhatsApp 083 687 0559.
