Up and Down

Yes, "up and down" is a common theme in this series of blogs--as well it should be. Riding the bike. Living life. Anyone contemplating either of these lofty issues is bound to notice the cyclic nature, pardon the pun.

Today marked a grand achievement. Whereas earlier this week my bicycle odometer turned over 1,000 miles, today’s achievement was grander than that (another unintended pun--think about it). Today I ascended Old La Honda Road all the way to Skyline Boulevard for the very first time. Given the effort to accomplish this I can’t say there will be many more such occasions. Albeit I stopped often--more frequently as I went along. It took me an hour and a half to go the three and a half miles. I’m figuring it was about a 1,100 foot climb as well.

The ascent was hard. Very hard. A few weeks ago, the first time I tried this, I managed to go about two-thirds of a mile before I needed to stop for a breather. At that point I felt light headed as well, and decided it might not be wise to push on further. Since then I had a chat with Deb’s colleague, an avid and experienced cyclist, Teri. Her coaching was to stop as long and as often as I needed, and then to keep going. Today I heeded Teri’s sage counsel, and the results speak for themselves. The allegory alarm just went off! Persevere, blah, blah, blah....

The way down was an all together different experience. I have mentioned some of the concerns that pass through this cyclist’s mind on descents. Whatever I may have encountered previously pales in comparison to today’s experience. An eleven hundred foot drop on a narrow, serpentine road, lined with redwood trees and precipitous canyons--this gets ones attention! Throughout this portion of the ride the words of my friend, John Carlsen, spoken on a ride we took together months ago, echoed in my mind with keener significance. Back then, when I was grousing about climbing hills and exulting about speeding down them, he mentioned that many experienced cyclists truly enjoy the climb more than the descent. During the climb, he explained, one gets a sense of accomplishment--real work is being done. Whereas during the descent that is replaced with naked fear. I understood that before. I really get it now.

Of course all of this is informed, aptly, by the little spill I had a few weeks ago. Ergo, as magnificent as the surroundings were--majestic trees and vistas--my focus was on the pavement, the sound of approaching cars, and the fluctuating width of shoulder that the road provided. Sometimes it disappeared altogether and I had to take a commanding position on the highway. Whenever possible I moved cautiously to the right of the white stripe on the shoulder. Virtually the entire ride down I was in the dropped handle bar position gripping the brakes. Only occasionally was the road wide enough, smooth enough, and straight enough where letting go of them was not an entirely suicidal maneuver.

One of the beautiful aspects of my many stops on the way up the road was the opportunity to simply take in the natural wonders around me. I am quite conscious of the fact that I opted to ride today, Shabbat, rather than attend synagogue. Sadly, the ritual there is often not as compelling as a stand of redwood trees against a crystalline sky. To compensate, if that is the word, for non-attendance in shul, I engaged quite consciously in full appreciation of what I held before me. It would have been a great loss not to do the same were I fully preoccupied with my survival on the way down. Though my body did not demand that I stop on the descent the way it did on the way up, my soul asked for a few breaks to soak it all in on this picture perfect afternoon.

Sometimes up is torture. Sometimes it is triumph. Sometimes down is ecstasy. Sometime dread. One of my cycling friends told me some weeks ago that this venture was not so much about quads and hamstrings, calves and gluts, but about the mass of “muscle” between the ears. The mind can frame and reframe every experience. I could easily say that both up and down were terrible in their own ways, and they were. Then why do I feel so good about them both?