Wild horses

Wild horses. I purposely haven’t made any resolutions or set any ride goals for 2020. Humans are the only animals that set objectives and spend time comparing themselves against measurable benchmarks. All other animals just go about living, simply being, without comparison. Society conditions us at a very young age that we are not enough. And we spend our lives trying to measure up and prove our worth. Other animals know that they are fine just the way that they are. Too often, goals usually just end up making me feel bad about myself instead of making me accountable to follow through. My motivation to ride my bike is intrinsic. It’s not about chasing results anymore. It isn’t even about chasing physical fitness. That’s simply a secondary benefit of riding. It’s about the heightened awareness that it gives me. The grounded feeling. The clarity. The open space. The peaceful silence. The aliveness. The high-vibrational state. The healing. The connection to nature at that perfect speed. Fast enough to enable me to take in more than I do when walking. Slow enough that my surroundings aren’t lost in a speedy blur. Don’t make your rides a punishment driven by fear of inadequacy. Make your rides an act of self-love. Like wild horses, we’re not meant to be tamed and controlled by fear. Like wild horses, all that we really want is to run free. Wild horses.

Resolutions

Resolutions. During the time of the year when we all look back to evaluate our life progress as well as set objectives for the next trip around the sun, I ponder. I wonder why there is so much self-improvement hoopla on January 1st compared to the rest of the year? I mean, technically, for all other animals living on earth, it’s just a regular day. Maybe we’re just way too busy the rest of the year? When I consider the questions from the standpoint of the measurable achievements and accolades accomplished this past year, I definitely feel as if I am falling short. I didn’t get a promotion at work. I didn’t win any special award. I didn’t earn a new title. I didn’t make more money. I didn’t move into a luxury home in an affluent neighborhood. I didn’t purchase a fancy expensive car. In fact, I don’t really have anything special or impressive to show for on the outside. But, I have lost and let go of many things on the inside. Fear. Self-doubt. Guilt. Shame. Self-defeating thoughts. An inner alchemy and purification of sorts. The result of lots of ongoing inner work and expansion. All invisible from the outside, but more important to me personally than any physical thing that I could have manufactured, produced or built. Daring to go where I was once so very afraid to go is the most important work that I continue to do. Don’t measure your progress only by what you have accomplished on the outside. Look within. Dare to explore your inner sky. Happy New Year! Resolutions.

Winter Solstice

Winter solstice. The shortest day of the year. The end of earth’s six month exhalation. The culmination of earth’s yearly light purge. The day when the earth is the most titled away from the sun. The extra darkness leaving us starving for light oxygen, making all life seem so very lifeless. A time for laying low, rest, recovery and rejuvenation. Why do humans have such a hard time embracing it as such? We’ve created these holidays that enable us to reconnect and spend time with our loved ones during this dim time of the year. But we end up running around in a frenzy as we rush and scramble, overfilling our days with parties and social outings. Are we missing the point? It may be a question worth asking? As much as winter solstice can feel like a low point, it also represents hope and brighter days ahead as the days now start to get longer. The beginning of earth’s six month inhalation. The switch from dying to rebirth as our planet starts to lean back into the sun, the source of all life. I have often said that I am not built or designed to live in this Canadian climate. Something about my body having a hard time thriving in this winter cold and darkness. But then again, it may just be that like other humans in the western society that I live in, I simply try to squeeze in too much, expecting to maintain the pace of warmer and longer days? Nature has its own rhythm. And the only way to thrive in it is to adopt the same frequency and amplitude. Winter solstice.

Shine

Shine. Endlessly chasing darkness, but never able to catch it, its rays simply continuously shine. Source of life energy and radiant light, it asks nothing but our embrace, our gift from this universe. Even when obscured by cloud cover or hidden on the other side of this planet earth, it is still there. It still gleams. Endlessly trailing the darkness that it can never meet, it radiates. The sun. Our revolving point. The darkness antidote. Both darkness and light cannot exist simultaneously. As soon as light appears, darkness disappears. It’s a scientific fact. Darkness, by definition, is the absence of light. As I sit here, in a certain darkness, I need to remind myself of this. As I sit here, all I need is to let this pass. All I need is to sit in the stillness of this night and wait for dawn of the new day. All I need is to wait for the light to bring me back to life. All I need is to let myself… Shine.

Is it worth dying for?

Search and discover what you are passionate about in this life and spend your time slowly killing yourself pursuing it. Sickness is never easy even if it is eventually always inevitable. We try to find someone or something to blame in an attempt to maintain our false belief that life is under our control. Loss of health is so very humbling, an undeniable reminder of our fragility. The standstill so very uncomfortable. The dismantling of the indestructibility illusion in our mind so very unsettling. As I recover from my bout with viral pericarditis, I have a new found appreciation for the simple feeling of my beating heart without the pain. For the time being, this feeling that was once unnoticeable has become very palpable. I miss my bike. Mostly, I miss where my bike takes me. I feel very grateful that soon, we will go there again. What are you pursuing? Is it worth dying for?

Self-love

Self-love. Five hours after taking this picture last Friday, I’m lying on a stretcher in ER with fever and chest pains. I try to get some sleep between the ATV rider whimpering in agony holding his broken arm and the 15 year old hockey player who can’t remember what he ate for supper after a head hit in tonight’s game. Hooked up to this machine beside me, I glance over every once in a while to see what all of these attached wires are measuring. After over 15 hours, the diagnosis is viral pericarditis. A deja vu from almost 5 years ago. As I begin to feel much better, I wonder what this is trying to teach me. What does my broken heart need in this moment? Love. Self-love.

Sum

Sum. Our life is really but a sum. Its equation made up of being and doing. We’re born being. We learn doing. We need to. Our life depends on it. There are certain things that all animals, including humans, need to be able to do in order to survive. As our doing repertoire grows, so does our independence. This continues until we are able to take care of our own self. At this point, we become what we call an adult. We should now be able to earn a living and live happily ever after. Such a simple template. But is it working and who is it serving? It’s an important question that deserves our attention. Is it serving mankind? Or is it serving our economy? Is it teaching us how to make a living instead of a life? Is it teaching way too much doing and not close to enough being? Could that be why we often feel like our lives don’t add up? Could it be that we live in a world lost in doing? I ponder these questions during my last ride. The sum of why I ride is to let the doing part of turning the pedals bring me back to being. How balanced is your equation? What is your sum? The solution is not to do more. The solution is to be more. Sum.

Darkness

Darkness. My enthusiasm is always sluggish this time of the year. In nature, the extended darkness provides a time for necessary rest. I can’t seem to embrace it as such. I try to maintain summer’s pace. It has become my escape method. I have become very comfortable at its speed, just fast enough to avoid feeling. Nature is telling me to follow its lead. I recognize its truth, but I still resist. Staying busy is easier. Unconsciously, I am leaning towards disconnection. The temperature hovers around zero Celsius on Sunday. I ride out to the pavilion. My emotions linger close to the surface. But I can begin to feel a sense of ease as I sit there alone. Strangely, simply admitting to myself that I am unwell makes me feel better. Acknowledging my own darkness is the way forward. Reconnecting with life in nature’s now brings me back. As the days get shorter, I yearn for more light. And as the days get colder, I yearn to ride snow and ice covered roads that lead me to the serenity of the forest. I yearn, not to avoid feeling. But to embrace the season that is. Welcome to the dark time of the year. Slow down, and let it show you its light. Darkness.

Pain

“The cure for the pain is in the pain.”  ~Rumi

Pain.  Our instinct is to run away from it.  Our instinct is to avoid it.  Our instinct is to remove our self from it.  But, in order to be free, in order to be healed, we need to bravely face it.  We need to befriend it.  We need to sit with it.  We need to fully feel it.  We need to get comfortable with it.  We need to embrace it.  Only then will we be able to rob it of it’s power.  Our pain is purposeful.  Our job is to figure out it’s purpose.  Pain.

Backward

Backward.  A wise man once told me that in order to truly know a road or a trail, you must have travelled it in both directions.  Preferably by bike.  Ok, I added that last piece…  Regardless how it is travelled, I strongly believe that this piece of wisdom also applies to life itself.  To have lived well means having lived in both directions.  It means having gone back to revisit your past in order to understand your present.  It means going back to forgive old versions of yourself in order to heal the current version of yourself.  It means going back to unload everything that no longer serves you.  It means going back to give your crap back to it’s rightful owner.  It means going back to understand what you couldn’t understand when you were in the middle of it.  It means going back to learn the lessons that you weren’t ready to learn until now.  When you refuse to go back, you end up carrying your past with you into the present and eventually into the future.  When you refuse to go back, you end up reliving your past over and over in a never-ending cycle.  The only way to move forward is by going back.  Backward is forward.  Backward.

Fly

Fly.  This pic is from the seemingly everlasting summer of 1983.  I was 14 years old.  And my sole purpose at the time was to make the SE Racing logo wings on my PK Ripper take flight.  Ever since I started riding, I’ve always been obsessed with jumping.  I remember building small ramps in my backyard with wood planks and bricks when I was about 6 years old.  Eventually, as I got older, the ramps got bigger and bigger.  After assembling each of these launching contraptions, there was always a certain delay before someone gathered enough courage to actually launch it.  This was how legends were born back in the day.  No suspension, small 20 inch wheels, landing on flat ground.  You either acquired new scars and a good “the time I nearly died” story or you were immortalized as a neighborhood icon.  Often, even if you crashed, you still came out of it with all three.  There is something about the feeling of the wheels of my bike losing contact with the ground that fascinates me.  Maybe it’s the human animal instinct to want to be like the birds?  Even at 51 years old, riding a well built pump track on my mountain bike is one of my favorite ways to ride.  Clearing a set of doubles still gives me goosebumps.  The feeling of the bike gently sailing, hovering in the open space between mounds of dirt is simply incredible.  Compress, release, recompress.  It isn’t about speed.  It’s about flow.  It’s about letting the bike rise after gracefully coaxing it.  It’s about just letting it…  Fly.

Fluidity

Fluidity. With our first snowfall of the season, Saturday’s conditions were winter-like. The fat bike was happy to come out of hibernation, very eager to play in the snow again. The once familiar landscape felt so fresh covered by it’s new white blanket. I got out as early as I could, trying to take in the magic while it lasted as the temperatures warmed up in the afternoon and the snow slowly started to melt. Sunday’s skinny tire gravel ride was soft, wet and muddy with some snow covered bits. I bypassed certain trail sections where the snow was deepest, but still managed to make it to the café on the other side of town for my latte. After the messy post-ride clean-up, I decided to stick to the road on Remembrance Day Monday. This ride brought my odometer reading for the year just above 5,000 kms. Not a huge distance compared to back when I trained and raced, but the most that I have done since my health issues in 2015 and 2016. I thought about how far I’ve come since then, just as I began to understand that my progress wasn’t about a number. It was about a feeling of elegance in my pedal stroke that I hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. It was about the smooth, graceful circles that my legs were drawing. It was about the spin mantra that my lower limbs were repeating. It was about feeling more and more centered with each consecutive rotation. I wasn’t going fast by any means, but I couldn’t help but smile as I felt that old familiar feeling of riding effortlessness. Fluidity.

Feel

Feel.  It wasn’t early.  It wasn’t late.  I got up and went downstairs as the rest of the house slept.  I worked on my bike.  I did some yoga.  Even with the extra hour the night before, I still wasn’t really feeling it.  But it was Sunday, and on Sunday, I ride.  I made tea, ate and slowly wrapped myself in my ride gear still sipping on my steaming beverage between layers.  I ventured out taking the long way, eventually making my way out to the pavilion.  I sat for a bit to feel the cool breeze.  From there, I rode through Mill Creek park.  I was happy to be on my bike, but to be honest, I still wasn’t feeling it.  The trail crossing the railway tracks was closed which meant a detour.  I took it as an omen that I wasn’t supposed to make it to the café for my latte that day.  I veered off and headed home instead.  I had been forcing it enough already.  My body has been trying to tell me that it would like me to ride less lately.  Like nature around me, starting to get ready for its winter sleep, my body is asking me to tone it down a bit as the days get shorter and the air colder.  Riding back, I noticed a crane floating on one of the marsh lakes.  I tried to get closer to take a photo but it didn’t like me being so close and it flew off.  It’s grace and strength so impressive as it lifted itself up with a single flap of it’s strong wings.  Airborne, it glided steadily, hovering just above the still water (sorry, I was too slow to take a picture).   It was amazingly beautiful.  And in that very moment, I finally started feeling it.  Feel.

Disappear

Disappear. As soon as my gaze caught a glimpse of the fluffy clouds being reflected on the water, I understood that I needed to stop to take it all in before the moment vanished. The wind was very weak. My connection to nature around me very strong. I imagined what my surroundings would be like if I wasn’t there to notice. The clouds would continue to slowly drift. The tall golden grass would continue to gently sway in the light breeze. And the water would continue to accentuate the beauty of the skies above. The only difference would be my absence. Like a single grain of sand on a vast beach, my presence seemed so insignificant in the midst of the beauty around me. Strangely, for some reason, looking at the world as if I wasn’t in it made it even more beautiful. Pretending that I didn’t exist made it easier for me to recognize it’s splendor, instead of how I usually look at it, through the distorted lens of my conditioned ego. We’re all going die. And when we do, all of our fears and worries will be gone in an instant. That, I know for sure. Die before you die to deepen your appreciation of the amazingly beautiful world around you. Disappear.

Listen

Listen.  Rides are spontaneous things that materialize from inside of me.  Part of it is me trying to run away.  The other part is an invitation to listen to what is asking to be heard in the moment.  That is my motivation.  That is what pushes me to get out.  After a few weeks of patiently waiting for a saddle sore to heal, I craved the simple feeling of pedaling into the void.  Like the trees that have now shed most of their summer clothing, I also wanted to free myself from the heavy noise inside my head.  Sunday morning, I rode the trail out to the pavilion.  Alone, I sat.  I wasn’t there to think.  I wasn’t there to solve any problems using my mind.  I was there to simply listen.  I was there to listen without using my ears.  I was there to listen to the messages that are not communicated by sounds or words.  I was there to listen to the silence.  Have you been listening?  Listen.