Lights out tonight, trouble in the Heartland.
Got a head on collision, smashing in my guts, man.
I'm caught in a crossfire that I don't understand.
But there's one thing I know for sure Girl:
I don't give a damn for the same old played out scene
Baby I don't give a damn for just the in between,
Honey I want the Heart I want the Soul I want Control right now. - Bruce Springsteen in "Badlands"
I blogged and blogged and blogged as I rode. I thought broadcast some of my best stuff. Trouble is, I never can remember it once I get off the bike. That's odd, because it sounds utterly unforgettable in my mind. My goal was to ride 40 miles today. It's been a while since I rode that distance alone. Somewhere around mile 10, I eased into a rhythm and began to enjoy myself. I started taking a tally of interesting stimuli. Interesting to me, at least.
Number of dead snakes smushed on the road: I stopped counting at 10 (ewwww). Number of stupid/careless/inconsiderate drivers (especially the car with not one, but two teenage girls talking on their cells phones - I'm hoping not to each other): 4. Number of courteous, thoughtful drivers: All the rest. Temperature at 8:13 on a smoldering Oklahoma July morning: 91 humid degrees. Twitches of hamstring cramps: 4. Number of times I rode uphill too hard and felt like I might puke: 6 (figures). Number of times I thought about the EZ Riders and the fact that I wasn't riding with them: approximately 27. Number of times the Buddha randomly changed a red light to green so that I wouldn't lose my momentum: 3 (very cool!) Number of times I checked my odometer between miles 18 and 20.5 (the predetermined turnaround point): 147. This may be a slight exaggeration, but not by much. It took FOREVER to get to my halfway mark. Number of Peak Experiences: 1 (see below). Number of salt tablets swallowed: 4. Amount of water/Gatorade remaining in my Camelback when I pulled into my driveway: 1.5 ounces. Average speed for the ride: 16.8 (not bad for a solo rider who simultaneously avoided a heat incident). Length of my nap after breakfast: 2.5 hours.
Such are the thoughts of a solo cyclist. I'm certain there was some Monkey Chatter interspersed with calculating these vital statistics, but I chose to ignore it. My peak experience occurred when I reached the 20.25 mile point (the extra quarter mile factored in the half mile I rode out of the way when I missed my turn; if nothing else, cyclists are precise. So much so that when I turned into my driveway my odometer read EXACTLY 40.00 miles. Who needs a Garmin??) I digress, though I may have to change the Peak Experience count to two because it was sublime to reach home at exactly the 40 mile mark! Focus! When I looked down and it was (finally) time to turn around, I found myself at the entrance to a gated community a little west of Will Rogers Airport. Tuscany Something (recognizing that doesn't distinguish it from about 50 other subdivisions on the outskirts of metro OKC. What's the deal with developers' abrupt attraction to Italian themes?)
So there I am, in the shade of lovely landscaping by the Gate of the Gated Community. Safely off the road, some welcome shade, no traffic, exactly halfway through my ride - time for a big drink, dousing of my head, and a couple of salt tabs. Peak Experience! I must confess that I found it vaguely satisfying when one Gated Community Resident, and then another, hit the button on their shiny and sophisticated SUV, swung the enormous, decorative wrought-iron gate open, and drove through, only to see my sweating, slimey, salt-crusted, red-faced self grinning at them while I dripped bodily fluids on the perimeter of their fence-fortified compound. Come to think of it, THAT was the peak experience!
Presently, I feel like my well-being is balanced on a dime, and I am constantly teetering off that tiny coin into the realm of despondency. I've been here before, and I always listened to a lot of Springsteen to help me survive. I call it being in Bruce Mode. It's gotten me through a lot of painful crap. Challenging though it is to switch from group riding to solo, I wouldn't have it any other way. Everyone should spend some time alone. I see things and think things that I miss when I'm in the company of others. It's a great way to find out what's really inside my mind. It's also an opportunity to apply the fruits of my sitting. When painful emotions flicker across my consciousness, I just watch them, honor them, and reassure myself confidently that they will pass. That, or I will be distracted by swerving around the next dead snake.
Here is my final tally: Number of times I arrived home safely after a 40-mile ride today: 1. Number of times I thanked the Buddha for the gift of learning how to live my life: Boundless. Innumerable. Too many to count.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Number of dead snakes smushed on the road: I stopped counting at 10 (ewwww). Number of stupid/careless/inconsiderate drivers (especially the car with not one, but two teenage girls talking on their cells phones - I'm hoping not to each other): 4. Number of courteous, thoughtful drivers: All the rest. Temperature at 8:13 on a smoldering Oklahoma July morning: 91 humid degrees. Twitches of hamstring cramps: 4. Number of times I rode uphill too hard and felt like I might puke: 6 (figures). Number of times I thought about the EZ Riders and the fact that I wasn't riding with them: approximately 27. Number of times the Buddha randomly changed a red light to green so that I wouldn't lose my momentum: 3 (very cool!) Number of times I checked my odometer between miles 18 and 20.5 (the predetermined turnaround point): 147. This may be a slight exaggeration, but not by much. It took FOREVER to get to my halfway mark. Number of Peak Experiences: 1 (see below). Number of salt tablets swallowed: 4. Amount of water/Gatorade remaining in my Camelback when I pulled into my driveway: 1.5 ounces. Average speed for the ride: 16.8 (not bad for a solo rider who simultaneously avoided a heat incident). Length of my nap after breakfast: 2.5 hours.
Such are the thoughts of a solo cyclist. I'm certain there was some Monkey Chatter interspersed with calculating these vital statistics, but I chose to ignore it. My peak experience occurred when I reached the 20.25 mile point (the extra quarter mile factored in the half mile I rode out of the way when I missed my turn; if nothing else, cyclists are precise. So much so that when I turned into my driveway my odometer read EXACTLY 40.00 miles. Who needs a Garmin??) I digress, though I may have to change the Peak Experience count to two because it was sublime to reach home at exactly the 40 mile mark! Focus! When I looked down and it was (finally) time to turn around, I found myself at the entrance to a gated community a little west of Will Rogers Airport. Tuscany Something (recognizing that doesn't distinguish it from about 50 other subdivisions on the outskirts of metro OKC. What's the deal with developers' abrupt attraction to Italian themes?)
So there I am, in the shade of lovely landscaping by the Gate of the Gated Community. Safely off the road, some welcome shade, no traffic, exactly halfway through my ride - time for a big drink, dousing of my head, and a couple of salt tabs. Peak Experience! I must confess that I found it vaguely satisfying when one Gated Community Resident, and then another, hit the button on their shiny and sophisticated SUV, swung the enormous, decorative wrought-iron gate open, and drove through, only to see my sweating, slimey, salt-crusted, red-faced self grinning at them while I dripped bodily fluids on the perimeter of their fence-fortified compound. Come to think of it, THAT was the peak experience!
Presently, I feel like my well-being is balanced on a dime, and I am constantly teetering off that tiny coin into the realm of despondency. I've been here before, and I always listened to a lot of Springsteen to help me survive. I call it being in Bruce Mode. It's gotten me through a lot of painful crap. Challenging though it is to switch from group riding to solo, I wouldn't have it any other way. Everyone should spend some time alone. I see things and think things that I miss when I'm in the company of others. It's a great way to find out what's really inside my mind. It's also an opportunity to apply the fruits of my sitting. When painful emotions flicker across my consciousness, I just watch them, honor them, and reassure myself confidently that they will pass. That, or I will be distracted by swerving around the next dead snake.
Here is my final tally: Number of times I arrived home safely after a 40-mile ride today: 1. Number of times I thanked the Buddha for the gift of learning how to live my life: Boundless. Innumerable. Too many to count.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
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