by susan | Jul 10, 2022 | Uncategorized
yesterday my bicycle got a new cassette, and my shifting and pedaling this morning were smooth and lovely.
and my route included about 5 miles of newly-laid asphalt: heaven!
but what completely made my morning was the guy in the canyon who called me a bad ass. I followed him for the first three miles up, a discrete distance behind, and then passed him, saying I know you’ll come catch me, to which he responded eventually, but you’re a bad ass!
I became the rabbit, of course, and had to stay steady. two miles later I heard his labored breathing behind me at the top of a rise, but he backed off as the road eased. during the last tenth of a mile I heard him behind me again, breathing heavily, and as he passed me at the crest he offered me a fist bump and said, nice pace, you are a bad ass!
yes, I’m still glowing.
whoever you are, thanks for making my day.
by susan | Mar 16, 2021 | Uncategorized
I love riding my bicycle. If you know me at all, you know this.
Riding up a canyon, especially early in the morning, transports me to another world, one that fills me with delight, wonder, awe.
Living in northern Utah, however, means snow and cold and rain during the winter months; these put a damper on cycling. Thus I turn to other activities. I ride a trainer, indoors, and then I hike or skate ski, depending on conditions. Life in cycling season is great, and life in ski season is pretty darn great too.
The shoulder seasons get me.
Travel industries call the time between high and low seasons “shoulder seasons,” and I’ve adopted this phrase for my transitions between consistently being able to ride outdoors, and not.
Right now I’m in a shoulder.
Skate skiing has been mostly fabulous this year, and I’m finding myself a bit sad to think of it ending. The warm weather we’ve been having, though, is melting track quickly, and each time I skate I mentally prepare myself for it being the last. And, it’s not quite warm enough to be excited about being on my bicycle. Spring weather here is fairly unpredictable, thus I’m in a state of transition that feels amorphous.
Which matches my emotional state.
We are beginning a transition from full-blown pandemic to… well, less-full-blown pandemic. As vaccination numbers rise, hope for a different future does as well. This will lead to numerous changes; most are welcome, but some are also challenging.
Just as I’m a bit reluctant to give up skiing—although I so love cycling—I’m a bit reluctant to give up the structure I’ve developed over the past year.
I want to return to practicing psychotherapy in person, from my office…sortof.
I want to be free to socialize again…I think.
It will be so great to go places where others freely move about and don’t skirt their fellow humans…perhaps.
This amoeba-like state, shape-shifting, always throws me.
But this morning I realized that instead of letting myself get lost in the discomfort and unknown, my task is to embrace it. Without this phase, the next good thing isn’t able to present itself.
If I resist this, I’m stuck here.
So… this is just the next step toward the future, toward what I’m working to create. Instead of getting tangled in the discomfort, it’s time to celebrate reaching this point. We’ve come a long way, baby, and we can handle whatever the universe next throws our way.
by susan | Oct 30, 2019 | Uncategorized
deep, dark morning, while most slumber, is a bewitching time of day up my canyon. deer lower their heads to graze, porcupines waddle along the edge of the road, coyotes trot through sage and grass, crickets sing, songbirds hail one another, owls look down and peruse their kingdoms.
during late spring and early fall the sun gradually lightens the landscape as I ride, and I seek silhouettes and vague forms that delineate as I near. as fall stretches forward and the days shorten, I attune to sound alone, as my vision is limited to the small cone thrown by my front bicycle light.
with any bit of light, I’ve learned to search for owls atop spindly, lifeless trees, and now know which trees are most often inhabited by these predators. at times an owl calls and I am kept, by the dark, from spotting it; instead I experience a spark of joy from the challenge of pinpointing, sightless, its perch. owls are there; they watch me pass.
one early october morning, I crested the summit, and coasted down toward the reservoir. as the road leveled and turned south, I resumed pedaling. well behind me, still at the summit, approaching headlights shot downhill.
a large shadow—dark against dark—appeared far to my left, a strange effect of the headlights, I thought. then the shadow moved closer, again in my peripheral vision, an illusion, perhaps. the shadow was then shockingly close, my nerves tingled, and suddenly an owl swept across me, left to right, its wings and torso millimeters from my head and arms. brown, darker brown, a pattern almost striped, I impossibly felt its feathers against my skin, its body against my own.
gone.
I pedaled.
the truck passed me, its headlights piercing the opacity.
I rode to the reservoir, jubilant, astonished. I turned and began my trek home.
jubilant.
astonished.
by susan | Feb 27, 2019 | Uncategorized
[the following is a reprint of a 2011 post on my blog, the tao of cycling, titled the great escape. the only changes I would make are in the second line: “five” now becomes “thirteen,” and to add that I now am with a new therapist who is even more streamlined and responsive than those who came before… ]
here’s a not-so-secret secret:
I have been in intensive therapy for the past almost-five years.
I’ve changed therapists a few times, from a rather heavy, stable, predictable gal to someone a little more streamlined and frosty, to my current therapist, a gal named ruby who is sleek and slender, sharp and responsive, understated yet subtly persuasive, and always ready and available for a session.
the best thing about my therapists is that they all–all–work outdoors. none of this sit-on-a-couch stuff. they’re into movement and nature, and they’ve all been extremely tolerant of less-than-perfect conditions.
they don’t mind getting a little wet.
they don’t mind cloudy skies and temperatures in the 40’s.
they don’t even seem to mind those 100 degree days, though I’m tempted to believe they prefer heading up canyons when the air gets that hot.
I’ve been with ruby for over two years now, and have spent so much time with her you’d think I wouldn’t need her anymore. but the thing with this kind of therapy is that it becomes a regular, almost standing, appointment. it’s more like yoga and meditation: daily practices that heal and soothe, center and relieve one of stress and anxiety.
ruby and her predecessors have helped me learn many things, not the least of which is that I am capable of more than I thought I was.
I’ve also learned:
- no matter how long the road before you, the only way to shorten it is to move forward.
- one’s mind will opt out long before one’s body will.
- the only way to get up a hill is to start pedaling, and keep doing so until you reach the top.
- the less baggage you carry, the easier it is to move forward.
- some baggage is necessary for self-care along the way. it’s okay to carry a little. it makes you who you are.
- rewards you earn are more enjoyable than those just given to you.
- we all need an escape at times.
- what hurts for a little while will ultimately make you a stronger person.
- it doesn’t matter whether those rivulets running down your cheek are tears, sweat, or a result of wind-irritated eyes. it’s all good.
- before you can go anywhere, you have to be where you are.
and then there is this:
all the training in the world won’t get you anywhere unless you possess and exercise some courage.
the initial investment in my therapy made me gulp, and changing therapists can be expensive, too. but the daily expenditure is minimal, and mental health is truly priceless.
by susan | Nov 7, 2014 | Uncategorized
I am a writer who cycles. and a cyclist who writes. neither is separate from the other, and when I am cycling my mind fills with things to write about, from the world surrounding me to the bumpy road beneath my tires to the creatures (including motorists) who cross my path or pass my pedaling self. the world surrounding me is most evinced by temperature, skies filled with pre-dawn dark or sunshine or clouds, and the wind.
it’s rarely windless. some days wind whips past, sending fall leaves skipping along the ground or flying through the air. other days the wind is gentle, the tips of long grasses barely bending toward or away from my approaching body. moments of calm exist, but rarely do they extend further than a few minutes’ travel. typically, though, the wind is either up-canyon or down-canyon, and depending upon exposure and turns of the road, can at times be on one side of you or the other. and on wickedly windy days, it can jump and swirl, catching you by surprise, pressing against your chest, the side of your body, then your back, playing games and challenging you to keep your wheels straight and tall.
a book I recently read made generous use of the terms temporal and spatial, and in wrapping my mind around these concepts as he applied them I struggled. I was forced to look up definitions (spatial: relating to, occupying, or having the character of space; temporal: of or relating to time or earthly life as opposed to eternity ~ secular not sacred.) neither word exists in my usual spoken or written lexicon–though I certainly understand time and space–I added them to my mental list of “words of which to gain a firmer grasp.”
back to the bicycle.
please understand that when I’m cycling I am usually climbing or descending a canyon. while descending, I am hyper vigilant of hazards, while simultaneously on a landscape-fueled adrenaline high. thoughts flit through but rarely linger. while climbing uphill, much of the time I’m physically challenged enough that few brain cells are available for contemplation. thoughts come and go but my ability to direct them is limited. this pays off wonderfully in that the “inspiration silencer” is squelched by this lack of brain cells (and oxygen), allowing moments of brilliance to break surface. a few days back, during an uphill battle filled with unpredictable gusts of wind, displayed before my very eyes was a dramatic visualization of spatial and temporal.
the stretch of road I pedaled was momentarily calm: no leaves scattering before me, the roadside grasses tall and straight, a hush in my ears. but before me, not forty feet away, I watched a patch of swirling leaves and branches and grass bend fore and aft beneath the invisible onslaught. ah! spatial! my temporal zone was calm, but the exact same temporal moment, forty feet away, held a completely different spatial experience!
the wind gusts differed by spatial orientation, regardless of temporal designation!
yes, space and time are delightful words, both of which I will continue to select when discussing such concepts as–hmm–space and time.
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