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Subject: surrender

Author:
judy

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Date Posted: 13:38:46 09/06/04 Mon

The sun had set. We mounted our bikes and began the flight back to our cars. I say flight, because that's how it feels whizzing down from 1,700 feet at Mt. Diablo.

I've found that the trick to surviving the bumpy ride is to let go, in effect to surrender to the mountain.

This is new for me. It happened the first time a few weeks ago. I found myself going faster than I'd ever gone, smoothly navigating the trail over gravel and sticks, around curves and through dips, without fear. I followed the line of my biking partner Mike and kept up. I could sense the ground through my bike and felt connected to the mountain. Instead of reacting to the trail as an afterthought, I became one with it. Knowing what to do became instinctive and automatic. I flew faster than ever, but I also had more control.

Tonight, this harmony with my bike and the terrain escapes me. My shoulders are hunched and tight. I try to lower them and think about connecting with the ground, but it doesn't help. I'm a bit scared and I don't know why.

Mike offers a suggestion. He's stopped to wait for me and turn on a small light perched on his handlebars. It's nearly dark, he says.

I look around and notice that darkness is indeed encroaching. The rocks, trees and soil are beginning to blend together. Their forms have lost clarity. It's like seeing the world from a slightly out of focus camera lens.

We begin riding again and this time Mike stays close by, at my side or directly behind me. His light helps, but I can barely see. Something remarkable happens nonetheless.

We've cleared the steepest part of the trail and I once more tune into the sensations coursing through my body. I easily navigate the trail. I can't see the rocks and tree roots that line the dry stream beds, but I barrel over them, trusting my bike and body to act as shock absorbers.
In the darkness, my lesser developed senses have taken over, guiding me into a freedom I lacked when I could see.

We come to the last bit of single-track that will take us to the parking lot. Ten feet behind Mike's light I cannot see much of the trail, a narrow bowl carved out by bikers, horses and hikers. I don't care. I breathe easily, relishing these last moments of our adventure.

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