Stick to the Plan

It was a vehicle. She stood waiting for it to round the corner so she could see what manner of human intrusion this was to be. Sad to say, she assumed people meant trouble. She knew the Forest Service wouldn't approve of her inhospitable outlook, but this mountain would be a superior place if people stayed off it altogether. - Barbara Kingsolver in "Prodigal Summer."

Day 186. Dog days of summer. Triple digits in the forecast for the foreseeable future. One of my dad's favorite phrases (ranked just below "Because I said so") was "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all" (interesting advise from a man with no misgivings whatsoever about the not-so-nice things spewing from his lips). Today, I'm following his advise. Regarding the weather, I shan't say anything at all.

For the first time this year, I rode hills on my single bike. In the Spring months, we rode several hill routes on the tandem while training for Tennessee, but I haven't been out alone on the hills at all this year. The Monkeys were busily planning my route last night during zazen. I eventually got them shushed, and I have to admit the pesky primates did a durn good job formulating a plan. This morning I followed it to a T.

When my alarm went off at 5:45, I felt trepidation about sticking to the plan. I have previously ridden all of the streets on the route, but never in the sequence the Monkeys had devised, and never by myself. Though I am fond of depicting myself as a Cycling Stud on the blog, I must admit to feeling anxious this morning. As planned, the ride was entirely novel. On past Saturdays when I pedal out into the dawn, I've headed north and west. Today's route first took me south and east. My usual route quickly accesses roads with less traffic and no dogs. This ride began with several city miles before dumping me into fairly rural countryside. Past Saturdays were clear and sunny from the start. This morning, the light of dawn was delayed by cloud cover. Humidity was high. Visibility was low. My sunglasses were too dark. I switched on my rear light, selecting a blinking pattern with a manic strobe effect that made approaching me from the rear reminiscent of entering a disco bar in 1977. With Oklahoma drivers in cloudy pre-dawn darkness, you can't be too careful.

The sky had lightened by the time I hit the first stretch of hills. Lightened enough for me to look ahead and see a ribbon of steel gray pavement seemingly rise to the sky. "I used to pedal up THAT?" I asked myself, recalling the stretch of road from regular Thursday evening rides with my friend Amy, back in 2005. "It wasn't that steep five years ago." Hills are psychologically challenging as well as physically. My style is to ride them with a vengeance. I get into a tight tuck on the descents, frantically pedaling in my smallest gear to work up as much speed as possible to carry into the ascents. I love how it feels to come screaming down a hill into the coolness of the hollow at the bottom, pedaling like a madwoman. With wild abandon, I surrender myself to sheer instinct, sensing the grade through the pressure in my quads and the tilt of my bike. I've become so strong from Pilates that I can stay in my big gear up front, and - if I can tolerate the pain in my legs and lungs - maintain most of my speed to the crest of the next hill. Shifting gears requires no conscious thought; an instinctive internal sensation triggers my shifting finger with perfect timing and precision. Almost magically, my gears are shifted as I need them. Riding hills hard means riding out of my mind. The Monkeys can't even access their vocal chords.

I followed my plan. Stuck to the exact original configuration. I had no idea about the mileage (almost 40), which is less relevant when riding hills. I passed two lone joggers (at seven a.m. on remote country roads - now that's Stud) and zero cyclists until the last five miles or so. Saw lovely green pastures with new insight and appreciation after reading Barbara Kingsolver's detailed description of insect and plant life in my current novel. Listened carefully to early morning bird sounds for the same reason. Rode hard, rode well, gathered data about my cycling that is inaccessible when riding with a group. Concluded definitively that roads are a superior place if cars stay off them altogether.

Some of the tougher hills threatened to demoralize me; however, I kept returning to the feeling of sitting on my cushion, stock still, for forty minutes over the past few days. I thought about sticking to my plan for blogging and meditating. Thought about commitment and courage and follow through as values that are meaningful to me at a private, sacred level. Acknowledged the tremendous gift offered by my practice in the form of being brave when facing uncharted territory. I avoid a lot less since beginning to sit. Things seem much more manageable when you approach them as "Just this."

Make a plan and stick to it. Be brave. It's just another form of bliss.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc