Being There

Riding about is about being present. It's the seminole reason and essence of every ride. It's hard to be present for everything else, but riding forces on to be in the moment - any distraction can be disastrous. Racing is the extreme end of this present state. The mental burden that eventually gets to you if you have any doubt of your ability to be in the here and now.

Being present in life is a challenge. For me, it's been a life-long search to figure out strategies by which I can stay present for my friends and family. It has been such a huge burden on my mind that I became a drug addict in part to ensure I didn't have to be there for people - sorry, I'm using, I can't be of any help to you right now.

That was my one-off cope out. Ah yes, to be young, stupid and without regard for empathy. Since becoming a bit more grown up I've found that being there for people is important, and it's not as hard as I made it out to be. In fact, I've found that instead of it being a burden on my emotional state that it actually engages my mind in a way that adds to my energy - instead of a sink that I pour my energy down, when I'm emotionally engaged with people I find that my mental energy goes up.

I have three levels by which I engage with people. These three levels are also indicative of how close I am with any person given the level on which we engage naturally.

The first level: Fact sharing.

The second level: Opinion sharing.

The third level: Emotional sharing.

Level one sharing is akin to "breaking the ice" or "small talk." There's nothing really substantive in the dialogue and is meant to take up the air between two people in order to fullfill any "awkward silence" that may occur when two people initially meet or between two people who are "just being nice." It serves one of those two purposes. Perhaps you just met and you find that you have a good vibe with this person, so you share some facts. Maybe they find interest in those facts - honest interest. Then maybe, with this co-interest in the subject by which you both find common ground, you can move on to opinions about the facts. But really, those opinions are meaningless without co-interested parties. Nobody who doesn't ride gives a shit about your opinion of Gore Ride On cables versus Nokon or Campag.

The "just being nice" aspect may be incurred when two people first meet but there is no energy exchange. You're both nice to each other but, "hey, how about this weather?"

Level two sharing is really an extension of level one. As I said above, you share opinions when you find you have common ground and co-interest in a broached subject. Most "acquaintances" don't get beyond this level. I would say this is where my work relationships end up except in a few cases which I can count on half a hand. I would also say this is where most of my social interactions end. Cycling is about facts and opinions, you'd be amazed how many hours you can spend on a bike talking and getting to only this level.

In fact, cyclists and athletes in general don't want to admit to emotional intelligence. Having emotions can get in the way of athletic goals - it's all mental, just like dehydration.

Level three sharing is vulnerable and risky. Most don't share feelings unless they are very close with the person with whom they are interacting. Emotional vulnerability is seen as taboo in our culture, especially for men. Men are not supposed to have feelings and it's not very masculine to share them if they do.

Level three is a natural state for me. I don't know why. It's the reason a lot of people keep me at arms length - people get scared when someone places so much emotion on the line with people he or she barely knows.

Vulnerability is a risk and the person who risks a lot is not to be trusted.

Granted, I don't actually share things that I perceive as making me vulnerable. To the people who are close to me, with whom I've actually shared my vulnerabilities, one can rest assured my secrets are safe with them - and they're way more interesting and make me far more vulnerable than basic level three sharing. I like to think of level three as an ice berg of knowledge, and when I go there with people I barely know it's only the tip of this ice berg.

So, yes, I do have boundaries. It's just that my bar for what can or should be shared is much lower due to the massive height of my level three ice berg. I feel comfortable sharing much more because that particular pile of shit is so high for me, so the bar can sit lower with out actually making me feel as though I've shared something that crosses the line - AKA TMI.

When I'm trying to be there for people in my life (it's always "trying" because I can't honestly say I'm there 100% of the time) I need to be on level three. You can't be there for someone with opinions and facts - those are meant to inform emotional interaction, perhaps with logic and reason to find solutions to personal dilemmas - but by themselves, without emotion, they don't help much.

This is one reason why I ride by myself so much. I'm alone, and not forced to interact on a level that I'm not comfortable with. Riding is a way for me to process daily interactions, and if I'm riding with someone I barely know I find that process stagnant. The present state of riding allows me the time to find solutions for myself. It's the present state I need, it provides a place for my mind to work through the reason and logic and have some "level three" time with myself. Like personal emotional auditing. Once I get that out of the way, once I deal with my own personal problems while I'm out riding, becoming present and helping others is simple. Nothing is more difficult than dealing with your own issues.

Somewhere along the way I decided to take my own advice.

So Far

As I rounded that last switch back when I see the top it suddenly appears so far. What was euphoric turns to a deep pain throughout my body, like a weight I can't lift any longer my legs swell with each revolution of the pedals.

Climbs, no matter how long, always appear in three parts: the beginning, warming up and moving the blood into the capillaries - it's like waking up and getting out of bed in the morning, it's the hardest part, just getting the juice moving. Part two is euphoric; like you could do this all day; holding on to the unsustainable as if it were sustainable; telling yourself this is easy; it honestly feels easy; it's not really easy, which brings us to Part Three where euphoric turns into breakfast making it's way onto your top tube. This is also a pretty rad part. Sure, loosing your stomach is never fun, but this is what tells you if you're going hard enough. Some people go until their hair stands up on their arms, loosing your stomach is about two levels up from that, and is a good qualifier for work.

Power meters are for pussies, just sayin', it's not going to tell you how hard you could have gone, only how far you're willing to push yourself based on quantitative measures, it says nothing of your actual worth as an athlete, it says nothing of heart or courage.

That's all for today. I just had to go on that little diatribe before I fell asleep...

Filter

A love-hate relationship exists between me and words. Writing is the concise form of my personality; it's economically streamlined and to the point. I can form sentences from words and words from letters that represent exactly the thoughts in my mind. It's beautiful. 

What is written here is honest but it's filtered. I have about twice as many drafts of things I wrote but can not find it in me to make public or read again myself. Those drafts are filled with words that I can't touch. They're like old journal entries, it's something that I needed to write about and never see again. It's venting, and is only meant to be there for that moment to suit that need. 

Riding exists for a moment, it too suits a need. There are always moments I wish did not exist on a ride: the six miles of highway traffic, the asshole that yelled at me. I filter them out in my mind. Those moments are there even on the best ride. But they're not the subject of my memories. 

To let go of these negative memories is the basis of my happiness. You can't hold on to the negative. Riding up to Laguna Seca a few weeks ago a met a man on a hand cycle. He had no legs. I'm sure he has a lot of negative memories; plenty of bad energy that he could hold on to; way too many excuses not to ride and tons to complain about. 

But he wasn't having any of that, he was riding up a giant hill. By the time that guy got to that hill he had already overcome something so much larger. When I find myself holding onto the small stuff it's that thought of him riding up that hill which reminds me it's all small stuff. 

It could be so much harder. Letting go of the small stuff, through writing or spinning pedals, becomes a few orders of magnitude easier with that memory in mind. 

Anticipation

[an-tis-uh-pey-shuhn]: unchecked desires and expectations. Knowing you want something when you almost have it but it's just out of reach; you're so close, you almost have said object of desire, you've already imagined a lifetime of possibilities that to not have is not an option.

Music

It's always playing for me, even when it's not on the stereo. It's in my head. It's in my energy. It's running through my veins. I can't get enough of it. The base line, the drum solo and the vocals focusing my attention away from the loud noises that often absorb the inside of my head.

Perhaps it's just a distraction. When I ride I never listen to music, sometimes a song will be stuck in my head but I never ride with headphones. The music is in the freehub, it's in the chain rhythmically clicking over the cogs and the crankset; it's in the air and the terrain.

The music is the journey. The music is the quiet content that is the sun rise or the sun set; it's the moment of breathing at the top of the climb; it's the dance we do on top of the pedals.

There is a rhythm to cycling, any cyclist worth their weight knows what that means. Therefore, the very essence of cycling is musical. It has structure, a body and verses we all know well. The bike is simply the instrument. The road and trail, the geography of the ride, is the beat.

Racing is a symphony and solo ventures are piano concerto's.

Just throw it out there

It's this old hippy slang that the universe will provide if you just throw it out there. I know, sure, sounds pretty fucking idealistic to me. I can't tell if you're just supposed to pray for that to be provided or to just exude purple "I need this shit" aura.

It actually happened to me. WTF right? WTF indeed. Sometimes just being is the only way to get what you need. Yes, you're actually exuding the purple "I need this shit" aura. Really, not kidding, true story. It'll just provide it for you if you're passively "asking" for it.

Case in point:. People. Yes, those creatures which don't need chain lube, new tubes or are cleaned with simple green. No, these are those which you talk to right off the bat - as opposed to talking to yourself after 6 hours of riding, dehydration and low blood sugar - no, this is what I learned about in 4th grade, it's called socializing.

I didn't have a lot of these things to talk too in the local in which I reside. Lots of old people. One time I harassed Clint Eastwood in front of the yogurt section in Whole Foods; occasionally I make a pass at the cute girl who works at the gym (how awful it must be to be the cute girl who works at the gym... ); once in a while I go on a diatribe to one of the local evangelicals trying to save my soul (I have no soul, I remind them, I'm an atheist.. ).

So right, there I was one day, decided to meet up with this person and get a beer. We connected like I don't connect with people right off the bat. I guess my purple "I need this shit" aura was pretty bright or something that day. I needed it, way more than this particular individual knew. I needed to know there were people, and maybe that was the point - knowing there are people who you can connect with.

So instead of waking up all jaded about this place I woke up and wondered "gee, how many others are out there? Where did I put that purple aura? Where are my pants?" Actually, that last thing is the first thing that is usually on my mind when I get out of bed in the morning.

So you need something? Need a favor? Forget karma, that's for the birds. Get some purple "I need this shit" aura, that's the ticket. On second thought, don't forget karma, I mean, I'm a cyclist, I'm superstitious. A little karma is probably good too...

Adventure

Adventure is like a drug for me, everything I do has to involve some sort of discomfort or unknowing of what will happen next. To ride my bike is a synthesis of this dysfunctional yearning. From the first ride I ever did, just cruising around Lake Tahoe one summer day, it felt like everything was new; nothing was staying the same; everything changing all at once - it's the seeing of things, the crazy shit people do in their cars, the funny people you see walking, the occasional animal.

Riding on the road is one form of this adventure. It's fast. It's flying in and out of cars in busy cities; it's banking perfect tarmac at 50MPH; it's the feeling of gravity and acceleration on three axis as you navigate an uphill hairpin turn; it's the salt covering your body after six hours of hard riding; it's the dazed moment before coming too after riding in close to zero temperatures and getting that defrosting cup of coffee. Mountain biking is whole different beast. Solitary. Quiet. More animals, less traffic. Banking berms at 20MPH; steering with your rear brake and legs; bunny hoping a root while climbing; aiming for the grass and not the oak when you're crashing.

Improvise - when you're on the road people are never very far, not so when you're on the dirt. Twist ties holding my cables to my chain stay come loose and you have to figure out how to tie it back, with whatever you have. It's like the McGyver of cycling sometimes. It's an extra element of not knowing, it's more adventure.

Growing up I used to be so timid of nature, of the outdoors. Scared of what lys beyond the tree line. I could not hike alone. Amazing to me it is that I've become the person I am today. I enjoy riding with people, but not for long.

Experiencing the world around me on my own is something I've hardened my mind to do, because it was not intuitive or natural. It felt wrong. But more importantly it scared me. Things that scare you - those based on specious logic in particular - are walls that need demolition. They are easier to break than you think; they are personal obstacles that are formative for not only your character but dive to the very heart of who you are. Their destruction is your growth.

Units of Fun

Units of Fun: The currency by which every amateur cyclist gets paid. If you're not having fun you're not doing it right. If you get paid in green backs, you're a professional. If you don't get paid in greenbacks and you're not a professional but you think otherwise then you're taking your shit to seriously. Way to seriously. Look beyond the spokes of your front wheel, there's a lot of other interesting stuff out there.

Unsure

Unsure: unn-sh-ur; thinking you know what you want, then finding out that you don't know what you want and your expectation for thinking that this knowledge was somehow in your control becomes undermined by the reality that life is the only sure thing.