On A Bicycle Built for Two

If you are not happy here and now, you never will be. - Taisen Deshimaru in the Zen Calendar (February 20, 2009)

Day 25. Let the Cycling Season Begin!

I say "cycling season" as though I'm preparing for something major like the Tour de France - or at least races known outside the state of Oklahoma. Not the case, although I am registered for a couple of out-of-state tandem rallies, which is a perfect segue into today's post . . .

We took the tandem out today into the glorious sunshine and (relatively) low winds. A cyclist's delight. Two cyclists' delight! I am the Stoker - the person on the back of the bike. The stoker is also the frequent recipient of the never funny observation from non-cyclists: "Do she do anything back there? Is she just back there for the ride? Hey, put your feet down and pedal!" etc. etc. I am extremely fortunate in that my Captain (the person on the front of the bike, and yes, usually the stronger cyclist) has a staunch appreciation for my pedaling contributions. He always speaks up in my defense with complimentary declarations of my strength and fortitude. He also calls me a Big Girls' Blouse (an adjective for "wimp" learned from English friends) on the rare occasions that I whimper. It doesn't happen often.

As the stoker, my mental capacities for executive functions like braking, shifting and steering are seldom needed. This leave me oodles of time for Monkey Cycling Chatter. One might think that cruising along on the back of a tandem would be quite conducive to philosophical prattle and existential wonderment. Not so for this Stoker. Perhaps it's because we never cruise; we zip along at astonishing speeds that leave me one heart beat short of what the aerobic charts say never to exceed when you are my age. This is, in part, because I am relatively new to cycling, whereas my Captain has been a serious cyclist for over a decade. This incongruence in pedaling experience has several influential consequences, not the least of which is my tendency to have a near death experience on every ride. Oh well, it's early in the season . . .

As usual, today's mental chatter was chiefly centered on the amount of Suffering I was enduring. We live in an area surrounded by hills (FYI for those readers who live outside of Oklahoma - contrary to the picture created by "when the wind comes sweeping down the plain," we actually HAVE hills!), and powering our less-than-petite weight up the steeper ones leaves my heart hammering and my legs a-quiver. I felt tired today, and kept chastising myself for playing too long on my Wii-Fit board the night before. My head hurt, my chest hurt, my legs were numb, the saddle was rubbing in all the wrong places, and my Wii tennis elbow was making it excruciating to hold onto the handlebar. I was definitely feeling like a Big Girls' Blouse. And I was not a Happy Stoker.

Somewhere around mile 20, I was in a tight tuck behind my captain on a breathless downhill. When gravity and a tailwind are working in your favor, tandem riding is exhilarating. We have rare form together: although our years of cycling differ widely we mutually share a dare devil, risk taking attitude that translates to a mantra of "Faster is Better." The stoker's job on descents is to tuck up tight, drop your head below the captain's back, be silent and HOLD STILL. The silent part is a challenge for me because I'd rather be hooping and hollering.

At some point during the thrill of that downhill, my mood shifted. I found the zen that had found me while mountain biking. I remembered that suffering only occurs when Reality is not matching up with the version of it that I prefer. It is ridiculous to be attached to pain-free cycling, especially when the season is just beginning, the north wind is howling, and the winter weight is jiggling around my middle. I sat up on the bike and began to breath through my center, right where I imagined my mudra guides my breaths during meditation. My Captain adjusted my seat -- just an eighth of an inch higher -- and I found a new set of legs beneath me. I felt immense gratitude for the sunshine, and the great number of fellow cyclists we passed in our lap around the lake. I dropped my expectations, my disappointment, my comparisons to late last season, my body loathing. Not surprisingly, the last 15 miles of the ride felt a lot different. Oh, I was still hurting - no doubt about that. I just wasn't obsessing over the pain, or expending energy on wanting it to stop. I began to wonder what my first cycling season while maintaining a regular meditation practice would be like. And laughed at the inevitable sense of anticipation that immediately followed. So much for non-attachment . . . .

My teacher used to remind us that our zazen practice would flow into aspects of our life in ways we could never foresee. It's early yet, but so far I love where it crops up in mine.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc