Alone and Not Lonely

Don't ask if I've ceased my wanderings;
already I've trampled all over the south.
Understanding should be what you yourself understand.
Mind is not someone else's mind. - Ch'I-Chi in the Zen Calendar (May 18, 2006).

Day 135. I spent the day at a workshop titled "Yoga & Mindfulness: Clinical Interventions for Anxiety & Depression." How cool is that? My profession granted me 6.5 hours of Continuing Education Units for something I do everyday anyway. Life is sweet.

The workshop was amazing, and I have some stuff to blog about it, but it will have to wait because my bike ride is on my mind (so much for nothingness!) My body's heat tolerance cutoff point appears to be 93 degrees Fahrenheit (plus or minus some humidity percentage points); unfortunately, daytime temperatures are now exceeding that crucial number. I explored my options and came up with: a) stop riding; b) move north; c) ride alone and start earlier or later in the day. (A) was not really an option; (b) would require leaving my psychology practice, which I adore; (c) was selected by default. I think it's going to work out fine.

Due to variables including winter and the tandem, it has been quite some time since I've ridden by myself. I frequently rode alone last spring and summer as I was gradually returning from the heat illness. The team rides 30 fast, flat miles on Thursdays, so I took myself out to the lake and decided to ride 30 miles, which is just over two laps around. My goals were to - uh - ride for 30 miles and finish by sunset. Sounds lofty, I know. Aim high!

After parking at the marina and unloading my spiffy pink T-Mobile bike, I turned south, where I was immediately slammed by strong winds and a hill. "No worries," thought I, "I'm alone." I stayed in my little gear and leisurely pedaled up the hill. The heat was surreal. I was pretty careful with my exertion, and - after all - I was alone. After cresting the hill, I shifted into my big gear and picked up speed. I even got into my drops to be less of a target for my nemesis the Wind. Away I went, pedaling the exact cadence I felt like at any given moment. I rode down the hills like a bandit, and sloughed up them like a slug. I sat up. I dropped down. I spun fast. I spun slow. My heart rate skyrocketed, then slowed to the lowest number of my aerobic zone. I was erratic as hell. It was a blast.

On the east side of the lake, with a steady tailwind, I got in my drops, shifted down, and settled into a rhythm. I sailed along between 22 and 25 mph. There was a bit of shade as the sun sunk lower, and I dowsed myself drippily with ice water from my front bottle. Just before the huge climb on 74th Street, I took a big ole drink of Cytomax and drew a few breaths parked in the shade by the little cemetery (the one I often consider checking myself into when we're on the hill route!)

I blasted down the hill, with only fleeting thoughts of how much faster the tandem plummets, and pedaled like mad up about 80% of the other side. Strangely, that was the point where I abruptly felt like ending my exertion. Might have been better if I reached that point 20% further up, but that wasn't the case. No worries. I shifted into my little gear up front and pedaled like a toddler taking her Big Wheel out for the first time. Glanced down at my computer as I topped the hill. The speed screen read a whopping 8.4 mph. Hmm, I thought. I waited for the Monkeys to express an opinion about this lousy excuse for hill climbing. They didn't utter a word.

The end of that first lap required almost two miles straight into the wind. Hmmm, I thought. I pedaled as the mood struck me. At one point, into the wind and up a hill, I clocked myself at 5.4 mph. I wasn't even sure my bike stayed upright at that speed. I waited to see if the Monkeys registered remarks in absentia. Silence. Strange. I began my second lap.

I turned on my tail light as my legs grew heavy and my water bottles light. There were fewer bikes on the road this time around. No worries. I was riding alone. I felt light and liberated and a little bit giddy, though not from the heat. The ride was feeling a whole lot like a couple of weeks ago when I first sat zazen for 30 minutes. Anything goes. Room on the cushion for everything; room in the saddle for everything. Room for coasting and stretching and pedaling hard and not pedaling at all. Room for sprints and rests and a stop in the shade. Room for wonder, humor, sarcasm and joy. Room for some mild foot cramps and a sore left calf. Room to mock the wind mightily because I couldn't care less how hard it blew - I could stay upright at 5 mph. That inner cycling critic - the tyrannical guy with the stopwatch and the scrunched up forehead who demands speed and distance and rapid ascents of hills - was not along for this ride.

It was brilliant to experience my zazen practice off my cushion and in my saddle. Even without a draft in sight, riding alone has its merits. I had a great time with myself. I finished my two laps. With at least four minutes this side of sunset.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc