The Ride

I had high hopes for this morning's run, a little on the chilly side but still a warmer morning than we've had for a week and still quite dry. Although I've been on my bike daily, responsibilities have kept my rides short. But this morning I was getting a pre-dawn start, and really looked forward to a long riding day ahead.

I put my helmet and skull cap on to break the lingering morning chill, grab my summer gloves and riding jacket but leave behind the thick riding jeans. I expected a hot weather day once the sun comes up.

That was a mistake, it seems. No sooner did I get 25 miles from home before the sky shifted into a light mist. I stopped briefly on an overpass to watch the morning traffic swell. Then I notice my face mask dotting up quickly and feel wetness through the tops of my Levis. Hmm. I move on.

It was a full-on downpour by the time I reached a local coffeeshop. The Bandit's torquey engine was breaking traction and the bike fish-tailing every time I shifted out of first with any hurry. Everything was slick. The streets had not seen moisture in a couple days and were a lot more oily than usual. I forced myself to slow down.

Although it was still a half hour before they opened up, the very kind young woman behind the local coffeeshop counter, who knows my familiar face, let me stay. She even delivered me an espresso as soon as the machine warmed up. "Thanks," I say to her, now very cold from the watery wind-blast. Soaked to the bone and add, a bit sheepishly, "it's a little moist out there."

She smiles a pleasant enough smile, but "Who in their right mind would ride in this weather?!" is the thought her smile says back.

She's right, of course.

Sometimes, though, the best place to work out everything from irksome thoughts to big life decisions is (at least for me) in motion. In fact, if I were to pick a gravestone slogan for my own immemorial, it would be just that, in all capital letters:

"IN MOVEMENT IS TRUTH"

The "ride" is that place where each bit, each second of travel, and each acceleration, and every shift, and every lean and angle... where all of that is both expression and reflection. It expresses my mood and effortlessly explains it back to me. It becomes a moving meditation and a "life mirror" of sorts, like a wave stirred up on the silvery smooth surface of an otherwise still pond. It blends man and machine and situation and thought into one fluid train of movement and expression.

The more I ride, the more I understand other forms of how I've been seeking this reflective state over the years. Climbing brings me to that same meditative place. Running, skydiving, flying, and other activities I've been involved in do also. The "ride" that I'm talking about doesn't mean just on a bike.

So far as I can tell in looking back, my life has been mostly involved in the never-ending pursuit of this truthful space that defies a better explanation or even a reason why. For me, and for a few others I've met along the way, it's about living life expansively forward, and finding meaning along the way.

Rainy Eclipse Day

Back in the city again. Weird energy today, almost like the air is hard to breathe. It's been raining on and off, and we're supposed to have the solar eclipse later this afternoon.

I miss the mountains - not the mountains themselves, but the fresher air and cleaner water.

I know I'm riding a machine made of rubber and steel and plastic and powered by decomposed ancients. I know none of this is 'natural' in the real sense of that word. But having so much asphalt and concrete and power lines and towers and buildings in my view - I miss the green and blue.

Time to leave the city. It's been that time for a while, now.

Big Picture

Every so often, life grants us an unlimited view of the ground below. Maybe that's the appeal of climbing mountains - it's not just the challenge, not just the height or thrill, but also the perspective it lends us for a while.

It was a long week here in the mountains of Colorado and, although I accomplished most of the things on my to-do list, I am ready for home. The Bandit and I have gone exploring every day we've been here. Still, in keeping to these mountain-locked river valleys, the people and the scenery have all started to blend into the same predictable landscape.

It's my final afternoon here. It was time for something different.

The Bandit and I were going to climb - as high and as far as we could go until we ran out of either altitude or met the halfway point on our fuel tank. We pick a random road leading from a tiny mountain town that seems to head skywards, and begin our long journey. No maps, no GPS, just fuel and the windy twisty road ahead and gravity, the roar of my engine, and the occasional ear-pop to let me know that we are still climbing hard.

I absolutely loved the twisties that lay ahead. Bending deep into each one and savoring the fluidity of motion, the finely balanced motorcycle beneath my seat, and feeling the delicate play of inertia and momentum, we blur past scary-looking drops and switchback our way up to the inevitable mountain pass.

Eventually, we run out of high places to reach for and I pull off onto a gravel trail that seems to run the ridge line that we are now skirting. I take in the incredible views, still stirred to excitement from the adventure of the fine road, behind and below us now.

As I marvel at mountaintops and at life up high, I think about how hidden this 'grand view' is while stuck in the day-to-day rummages of life in the valley far below. I also consider how different this grand perspective on everything below really is, and how important.

Without perspective, we are no better than fish, lost to our immediate surroundings and immersed in the tumultuous river of daily living. We may make some forward progress that way, but will lack direction. We may solve problems, but their scope and scale will be diminutive compared to our unspent potential. And the meaning of it all will stay, like the ever-distant horizon, just out of reach.

Some folks throw their hands in the air and leave life up to God, to fate or destiny, or random luck. Some grab and greed after every last dollar. Some are so afraid of unknowns, they turn themselves into miserable control freaks. Really, all that bother and barbarism is just coming from a lack of perspective - not knowing about or caring to see the bigger picture.

Having the right perspective, even striving hard to achieve it... I think it's worth the effort. Then, although we will still find ourselves buried in the turmoil and trudge of daily living, it's easier to figure out what's really important (or not) to us. We'll also have a pretty good idea where all that effort and struggle will lead, and if it's really worth it.

My advice - go climb a mountain every once in a while, metaphorical or otherwise, and take in the view.

Mountain Biking

The Bandit and I started our morning on a nearby mountain, waiting for the sun to come up high enough to take the chill out of the cold morning air. We had just climbed up past 8000 ft and got to a nice trailhead stop, but the air kept getting colder up high and, in the shadow of the looming treetops and mountains, it was a losing battle to stay warm.

Still, it's a nice way to start the day, with views like these.

Once we begin feeling the warming effects of the sun's morning blaze, we wind our way down the mountain again. As we approach 'civilization', with Euro-style street lamps and No-Parking-Anywhere signs (alongside million dollar mountain huts), I park for a moment to wonder what it would be like to live here full-time.

Only a few seconds later, the Bandit's engine roars to life again and we descend rapidly towards the ski village below.

Even if I could afford to live here, the price would be too high.

Human Doings

The Bandit and I took several rides early this morning. We ended up at a local mountain coffee shop where I filled my thermos with good coffee, and then headed out to put a few more miles on. I rode out again just as the sun was brightening the backdrop of mountains and sky. A very cold start today, in the low 50's. The coffee was a welcome addition to my ride.

I stopped several times to take in various aspects of gorgeous scenery and to sip warm brew. The summer gloves I have on are barely keeping my fingers warm enough to ride, but I tolerate the cold bite of an early fall to keep riding through this pictoral landscape.

Around noon I take another ride around, staying within the valley confines this time and avoiding the roaring interstate that cuts this place in half. Even so, I quickly tire of the constant smell of diesel and gas washing into my helmet off the four-lane buzzing above me, and descend down a gravel road and into a local camping spot by the river.

As I leave the Bandit and my gear parked on the gravel and work my way up an invitingly-obvious bouldering route, I consider the difference between 'being' and 'doing'.

Everybody runs around this place doing everything they possibly can and treating the mountains like their own personal playground, a thought I've heard from many locals, many times now. But really, for all that running around, people just don't seem a lot happier here than in any of the other city or rural places I ride back home.

I don't think happiness is a by-product of doing - it can't be. Doing something you love can make you happy while you're doing it, but that just doesn't stick. Happiness is a state of being, not doing. It's the who-you-are-when-nobody-is-looking that makes you happy (or not) and keeps you happy (or not).

As humans, we all get so focussed on doing. We forget that we are not our work, our hobbies, nor any other 'activity'. If you don't do the inside work needed to be happy - really happy... well, then all the running around you do isn't going to mean a damn thing, and you'll still be a miserable cuss of a human.

Putting the 'being' back in human being takes a lot more guts than jumping off a cliff or climbing any mountain or riding any trail, but it's worth it.

The "High"

The Bandit and I are getting along famously here.

I don't know if it's because she was a used Colorado bike when I bought her, or if she just likes these roads and breathes better up here, but she is really comfortable to ride at this altitude. Her TFI-tuned EFI overrides don't feel nearly as ferocious.

As I ride, I keep wondering about this place, what draws people here.

Interstate 70 is a constant thunder, a roar in the backdrop of "the valley". I see nameless hoards of yoga moms and avid bicycle folks in matching spandex and fleece. I ride past countless climbers on roadside crags and lots and lots of look-a-like fly fisherfolk casting away. I also see a disturbing number of (mostly empty) million dollar mansions pasted onto a once-pretty mountain, just like lookout towers. And every third car I ride past has either an ethnic work crew or an airy price tag.

And yet, with all this activity and all this wealth here, nobody seems happy except the simple folk. The ones who serve coffee or make sandwiches and get high every night they can afford to, they seem just fine. All the rest (and I do mean ALL the rest) of the folks who live here seem like they're stuck somewhere between a nightmare and a daydream.

That's saying something about this place, I'm just not sure what yet...

Colorado Rockies

Riding Colorado. Sweepy canyon runs and red cliffs and views and twisties galore.

High Colorado is not a place I would ever live (awesome geography but I'm not a fan of the attitudes around here) but still, it's one hell of a place to ride.

Adventure Is

Adventure is where you find it.

The Bandit and I just put over a hundred miles on of incredibly beautiful travels. We launched into Wisconsin while the sky was still dark and wound through very sweet country roads, filled with gas and coffee at a local station, and then launched again into the deep overcast gloaming of the morning sun.

By the time we got back into more familiar reaches and crossed the St Croix, I felt alive again and ready for the daily grind. Our morning adventure across immeasurably beautiful country landscapes, back county dirt and gravel roads overhung with old trees, and the occasionally surprising bit of windy country tarmac... well, it filled both our tanks full.

Sitting here by the river sipping coffee, listening to gulls call out and watching the rising sun and clearing sky, I am very aware just how much adventure is... is as essential to me as breathing.

Sunsets

The sun sets on everything.

As I see my old husky dog getting older and weaker, as I watch both my mom and dad wither with age, and even as I feel my old bones tired from the adventure-filled life we've lead and my beautiful wife with her face and her smile, I feel privileged to have risen with the day and be here now, in this moment, writing these words.

I have no idea where the road of life will lead me next. I have no idea when either of my parents will move on to their own next-great-adventures. I enjoy each conversation with them now, each recalled moment, every story they share, every laugh we laugh together.

All I know is that I am honored to have shared the road with some people, and will miss them when they are no longer riding alongside.

City, Country, Other...

We currently live in the city. Not quite the downtown area but a couple rings removed from there. The downtown is maybe 10 minutes down the road, so is the university, so are the various ethnic areas, etc.. It has positives and negatives.

But riding in the city and out to the country and covering lots of the ground in-between this past summer has really given me a lot of perspective on the way this part of America is put together and what kind of folks live here.

Downtown, for all its pollution, noise, and crime, is also home to the elite set and young go-getter types who just don't care. The university district just outside downtown is like Land of the Lost, with young hopefuls ranging from serious and studious to painfully pierced and tatted. Their stories and hopes and dreams are all there, etched in their "sidewalk faces" as they power walk the city streets.

Riding out from there are a nested series of concentric rings of increasing wealth, like some kind of dress-pants-required gladiatrial suburban combat arena. Lexuses and Range Rovers and a slurry of rageful Beamer types occupy these spaces, and they daily fight it out for slots in the ever-growing crawl of traffic, driving like they're always 'late for something very important'.

Finally, riding out, the landscape starts to flatten and the good country folk take over (or they never left :-). Simple people, simple lives, but even here the class system seems divided among congregations and acres owned and old family names. The "simple" life doesn't seem so simple anymore, as small towns try to balance high taxes and low incomes and keep things going. Lots of meth and drugs and drugged-out types around here, and I ride past lots of bank foreclosure stickers and run-down farms, and feel lots of hidden agendas.

The failing rural economy also seems like it's pushing anybody with a patch of land into government hand-holding programs and corn production. Or maybe it's just greed. Insanely, our government plants and then buys back corn that nobody can eat just to add ethanol to fuel that doesn't need it while using more energy and doing more environmental damage than the whole process is worth. And non-food GMO corn has literally taken over the entire rural landscape. It's crazy and it's planted everywhere I ride.

In short, the world (everywhere) is kind of a mess right now.

Nobody has it "figured out", despite how much they claim to the contrary. Sure, some areas may appear on the surface better than others, but every spot has its plusses and minuses. From richy-rich suburbs to big-city slums to piss-poor rural towns, and everywhere in-between, I've noticed that life and people seem to collect and live in "pockets". Some pockets are bigger than others, but they are all not without good and bad to varying degrees. And no place is "best".

As I ride now, I guess I'm more of an observer than a passer-by. I travel more intimately through these pockets of people and places, and I see and interact and feel a part of them in a way I didn't before. I'm starting to pay more attention to the world now that I'm focussed more on the journey than the destination. Or maybe it's just an age thing...

No place is perfect or has it all figured out, at least none that I've found. It's just like Buckaroo Banzai said: 

"No matter where you go, there you are." 

Onramps

It's a quiet Sunday ride this morning.

Whereas the ride yesterday was surrounded by big city frenetics and buzz and noise, this morning the whole world seems silent and still.

The Bandit and I launch into a zig-zag route east and north and east again, just winding into and feeling the unending asphalt beneath us and breathing in the moist morning air. The onramp for the highway soon beckons and so we launch onto it...

The sun is cresting now, burning its way into the eastern morning sky against a backdrop of leftover scuttle and cloud from yesterday's rains. The ramp and sky combine into a huge glowing mass of orange for a second, and I think about what this onramp represents.

It's both the end of one path and the beginning of another. It offers a gentle but sure transition, an opportunity for a gradual shift in direction and perspective, and yet it also represents a certain kind of commitment. Just like any major life change, it will cost some amount of time and fuel and effort traveling in that new direction before being given the opportunity to pick another.

Sometimes life's onramps lead you in a direction you never intended. At times that onramp is exactly timed and placed to take you to untold surprises and adventures, positive changes and beyond.

And, sometimes, that onramp leads you exactly where you wanted and hoped to go - to a place you knew you were headed all along.

May you always learn from the ride and may your destinations be worth the effort...

Changes

Art mirrors life. Life mirrors art. I've heard it said both ways, and I think both ways it's probably true.

Riding is kind of like art and life combined into one fluid activity. It feels like an expressive motion, driven by free will and the forces of nature, and carved into the landscape of commotion and calm. It is your signature left on the scene of life - the unique path your brush takes on the canvas of road and trees and traffic and turmoil - and it's unlike anything else I've ever done.

This morning is moody, and I feel the brooding sky just waiting to unfold again.

I park by the water's edge for a while, looking over one of the many lakes in this state and feeling the strange temperament of the day ahead. The darkening sky envelopes the morning sunrise, and a few sprinkles start down again. Although the water and wind are both calm right now, I can tell it's going to be a fight later to decide which of the weather systems above me are going to rule the day.

Big change is ahead. Big change.

Growing in the Rain

Wet start to today - it was pouring so hard by the time I got on the road. Then the sky opened up and gave me everything it had. My helmet visor was impossibly wet and my vision of the dying rush-hour traffic was reduced to blurry glimpses between the squiggles and runs of water streaming down my face shield.

Even so, I felt a growing sense of comfort in this chaotic moving mass of wet metal and rubber and steam. Strange as it sounds, it felt a little like home.

And when I got to my morning coffeeshop destination today, I was actually a bit sad the ride was over. I overheard the coffeeshop girl, it's supposed to rain the rest of the day - guess I'll get my chance to ride the rain soaked streets again shortly.

But, for now, the coffee is hot and fresh and my riding jeans and gloves are saturated, so it's OK to stop for a while.

Riding in the rain is still challenging, but I'm kinda looking forward to moving through it... and to learning and growing from the ride.

Second Chances

Amazing riding this morning - sun shining and cool breeze on my way to the Northwoods, a place I like to at least start my day.

I heard a good story from my neighbor at National Night Out yesterday...

Our block "does it right", with fireworks, a candy piñata for the little ones, free drinks and chips and dips and brats and dogs for all. It's a celebration for the whole community, and something that brings nearly everybody out of their boxes for a bit.

As the evening turned to night, one of our neighbors I hadn't seen in a while told me how he died, several times in fact. He had just survived the famous "widow-maker" heart attack (a Left Anterior Descending / LAD coronary artery blockage). Not only that, even though he hasn't quit drinking or smoking, he's still lost over 40 pounds, and he came out of comma to find he had won the lottery and was going to be receiving a tidy sum every year for the rest of his life. No kidding.

Talk about a second chance!

Now the funny thing is, even though he swears he never saw "the bright light" or the "tunnel" or "any other f**king thing on the other side", ... even with all the tough guy talk, there was definitely a twinkle in his eye that said otherwise. There's a reason why he's still around, not just dumb luck. I really hope he gets that message clearly and really maxes out his second chance on life. 

I have worked (CPR, cardiac arrest protocols, etc) a lot of VERY dead people, and I can tell you, most folks don't get handed that kind of (re-) opportunity. It just doesn't happen very often.

Live it large, amigo - make it count.

Cheats and Scoundrels

Bikes don't lie.

Gravity doesn't tell fibs. Inertia - momentum, both very honest. Fuel and spark and wheels make magic happen - all very straightforward.

But people... unfortunately... people bend the truth and people lie. People make up shit. And it never ends well for them, but they continue to do it anyway. They spin webs and get caught in them. They say shit and end up smelling like it. They weave complicated stories and scream and shout when those stories collapse. They lie and cheat whenever it suits them and point and blame when those lies leave them exposed. They do all this because they don't have the one thing inside of them that counts the most. Integrity.

Truth is simple. Truth has legs.

Being straightforward and honest and having a high degree of integrity in everything you say and do. Meaning what you say, saying what you mean. Some folks may not like it - hell, they may judge the crap out of you for it. But that does NOT matter. You can still build mountains on that kind of predictability.

And the people that really count will love you for it.