Inwardly seeing your own self-nature and being unshakable, indestructible -- that is Zen! - Zen Saying in the Zen Calendar (April 13, 2009)
Day 33. The number thirty-three always makes me think of a former consultant who would say, "That is your Jesus year." A reminder that He died when he was 33. So very young.
I'm still on a post trail ride high, though I'm pretty sure Monday morning will imminently squelch it. There was, however, another incredibly Zen moment during yesterday's ride that I want to brag about. Blog about. Whatever. It offered another meaningful metaphor that seemed relevant to my life, and hopefully to the lives of others.
When I last blogged about mountain biking, I described a section of trail in which I had to stop, balance beside a tree, and start again. The reason for the interruption to my flow was, essentially, a combination of unfamiliarity with the trail, extremely difficult terrain, and, uh, terror. I've never ridden that piece of trail all the way through. It is relatively new to the Clear Bay Trail system, and the result of diligent work on the part of ingenious trail designers (who also happen to be incredibly talented mountain bikers). The approach to the turn-off for this part of trail has two signs: one points away from it and says, benignly enough, "Bypass." The other sign points directly toward a deep ravine and says, "Advanced." Pretty straightforward, and how kind of them to build a shame-free alternative to the ridiculously challenging new stretch of trail. That said, I've always been somewhat of an overachiever, so I've never been able to "bypass" anything that says "advanced."
This little zinger is about half-way through the 18-mile loop. I'm cruising along, feeling all Zenned out, a little (no, a lot) cocky over the fact that the three stud guys I'm riding with have all had crashes, and I'm still blood-free. The two leaders have disappeared ahead of me - they live for this piece of trail. My cockiness falters as I careen down the first abyss and my front wheel skids some before I launch straight up the other side. That is just enough to trigger memories of my attempt to ride this section of ground two weeks ago. I would rocket headlong down the steep ravines and get three-fourths of the way up the other side only to hesitate, fail to pedal aggressively, wobble, and teeter on the edge of the tiny summit of the next crater. That moment of hesitation, my split second of indecision, would cost me the momentum I needed to successfully tackle the next sequence of roller coaster cliffs. This resulted in plenty of dirt-diving, bike pushing, and a decidedly dissatisfied attitude toward my mountain biking skills.
The moment of truth on sections like this comes just before you reach the apex of the climbs. The bike is pointing straight up, so momentum is quickly lost. You've gone from bullet speed to almost a dead stop, and every instinct says to kick your foot free from the pedal and put it down to prevent crashing back down to the bottom. The trick is to override your instincts and pedal hardest at precisely the moment you want to stop pedaling altogether. You have to commit. You can't equivocate. Or, as the EZ riders always say, "Ride through it."
During yesterday's ride, I didn't hesitate as I approached the tops. I tightened the core muscles I've worked so hard on in Pilates class, and pedaled those last revolutions like my life depended on it (and it might have!). I tried to visualize the layout of the trail so that I could have an extra nanosecond to anticipate where to steer my bike. Then my brain just shut off and shut up. I rode that segment of trail on pure reflex. My expression was a grimace of determination. I committed, flowing with the momentum until it gave out, keeping my feet glued to the pedals as I hammered those last couple of pedal strokes to bring me up and over. As I sailed over a crest I'd never ridden continuously before, I let out a whoop that was heard from across the lake. Sheer guts. Sheer glory.
I've repeated that part of the trail a hundred times in mind since yesterday, and I'm still grinning. I've been wondering how many times in my life I haven't, metaphorically, pedaled those last difficult, necessary strokes. How many times I've floundered, bailed, preempted an opportunity because I was afraid. I think we all prematurely abandon things when we can't see far enough ahead, when there is risk, when we haven't done it before. Imagine all the missed glory. My meditation is changing me from the inside out. Many times during zazen there have been painful emotions that bubble up, and I've learned to just keep breathing - to not bail out of the moment. Sitting helps me recognize and accept the steep climbs in my life. I'm going to keep pedaling up and over, because I like the glory.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
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