the tao of cycling: how the light gets in

Sunday, August 31, 2008

how the light gets in

my day yesterday began with a ride that took me up provo canyon to sundance, then up the alpine loop to the summit and down american fork canyon.
my day yesterday ended with a service beside silver lake at the top of big cottonwood canyon.
a day full of aspen, clean air, stunning views, rushing and resting waters, rocks tumbling down a sheer wall and sprinkling the road as I rode by, cool shade and goosebumps, hot breath from the sun, pine trees by the thousands, deeply beautiful souls, peace, and one perfect poem stanza.

last night liz's friends and family hosted a Light Ceremony, a letting-go ritual, a tribute to her life. I don't want to diminish its beauty and depth by trying to describe it, so I will only say that the gift for me of being there is that I was among over 300 amazing, beautiful, loving, giving souls opening their hearts in Liz's honor.
and that it was Liz's spirit that brought forward this opening.

I feel Liz everywhere, and I know, I know, that she is where she's always wanted to be. not that she didn't love being here, doing the work she did, loving her partner and their three children. but now she is in a place to touch all of us, albeit in a very different way. I know that I will always feel her at the top of big cottonwood canyon, a place she deeply loved. I feel her now, as I sit in my home in sugarhouse, typing and looking out at my foliage in my back yard and the blue sky that filters through. I will feel her when I need a good laugh, when I start to take myself too seriously. I will feel her when I need strength, when I start to weary of the human stressors that cross my path. her spirit will always be available when I need support. for she knew, she knows, what's real and what is not. and all I need do is tap into her spirit, and I will feel true grace.

Liz's sister shared part of a poem, from Leonard Cohen's Stranger Music, that touched me deeply. I will hold on to this, as I think mr. cohen has beautifully described human nature and what we are to do with it:

ring the bells that can ring
forget your perfect offering
there is a crack in everything
that's how the light gets in.

Liz had cracks; I have cracks. we all have cracks.
it is our nature, and it is God's gift to us.
may I always remember that without those cracks, none of us would be able to let the light in and reflect it back to the world.

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the Male Ego

The other day I was coming down a canyon in my drop bars (two years ago I would have said, 'what's a drop bar?'), working hard, when I came up on two guys who were also heading downhill but at a more leisurely pace. I passed them, said hello as I did so, and pulled back into the bike lane. a few minutes later they went flying past me, faces looking dead ahead, not a single bit of acknowledgment that I even existed on this planet let alone was involved in and enjoying the same sport they were.
I have to attribute this to the male ego. what else can it be? now I know we all have egos, myself included. and mine even shows its ridiculous little head once in a while, or perhaps more often. but the difference between mine and say, those of certain men on bicycles, is that I KNOW mine exists and I can LAUGH at mine. I know my ego was quite excited to pass those guys, and I could also smile because I knew if the men had really been working like I was, they would have kicked my butt down the hill.
I think I pissed them off.
and I'm sure I will be sharing with you much more of my thoughts about the male ego . . .

a little history

I was married, and I had a mountain bike which I rarely rode. we separated, I moved out, and four months later someone stole my bike. the next spring, 2005, I bought myself a new mountain bike. I rode occasionally, and in april 2006 I rode in my first century, the Cactus Hugger in St. George, Utah. I made it 54 miles on that mountain bike, and it took me about 6 hours. I think that included the rest stops where I prayed that someone would steal my bike again . . .
in june 2006 I started riding my mountain bike five mornings a week, a 45-55 minute loop that was intended to be all about exercise. and what I found was that I loved the quiet, peaceful morning full of bird chatter and barely breaking sunrises. by that fall I was hooked, and began considering the purchase of a road bike. I rode up emigration canyon for the first time that Labor Day of 2006, panting and plowing along on my trusty (heavy) bike, and a month later I was the proud owner of my own road bike: I had become a two-bike girl!
a 17-week-long "power camp" over the winter and a handful of new friends kept bicycling front and center in my life, and when spring of 2007 rolled around I was ready to hit the pavement. I rode my first century the end of april, when I again went to St. George and completed that Cactus Hugger. it took me about 7 hours, but this time I rode the entire 100 miles with about 9300 feet of vertical gain. woo hoo!
I started riding canyons around our area, emigration and millcreek, city creek, big cottonwood, little mountain and big mountain, and once--yes, only once--little cottonwood.
then in september of 2007, I rode from Logan, Utah, to Jackson, Wyoming, in the slightly infamous LOTOJA race. I rode, I did not race. and I completed the thing, crediting my good training buddies, the incredibly perfect weather, my support team, and an amazing convergence of all things positive in the universe.
I put in about 3500 miles last season, and as of today, july 19, 2008, I have about 1700 in, adding to it every day.
I have again signed on to ride the LOTOJA race, and my goal is to have just somewhere near as great a ride as I did last year. oh, and to have someone fun to talk with along the way as I got incredibly bored last year . . . star valley is still a nightmare scene in my biking memories . . .
and here is a picture of the machine that has helped me reclaim my life.