It’s nice in the summer, as there’s no heavy mop of hair hindering the cooling ability that the head offers. It’s also nice at the end of a shower – one quick pass with the towel and my “hair” is dry!
Generally, cold and rain fall into the “con” category. That same heat-transfer capability that’s so nice in the summer is a real problem in the winter – I’ve got an arsenal of different thicknesses of beanies that I wear all winter to replace the nice insulating hair that left me some time ago.
Every now and then, though, the cold rain feels pretty good on my bald head. This morning was one of those occasions. We’ve been without rain for so long, and celebrating the chilly drops dancing on my head as I walked this morning was a pleasant reminder that autumn is rushing down on top of us. The sense of impending change that permeates the air in the fall exhilerates me.
I’m sure if I had to endure cool drizzle more than occasionally it would start to weigh on me. Enjoying the rain this morning, I thought of my daughter, as she considers graduate school in Seattle. I spent a desperate lifetime in Seattle one November and December, and don’t think I’d do well with the dark drizzle. But then, if you know it’s just the way things are, maybe you get used to it? I’d worry about her for sure…
It continues to amaze me – even after all these years of living – how much the person that we are is affected by the weather around us. One more of those “place” things that I love to think about…
I love watching finches pulling seeds out of ripened seed-heads. They’ll sway with the stalk as it moves under their weight, displaying amazing balance while pulling seeds from the blackened and drying head they cling to.
There are many seeds that only germinate if they pass through the digestive track of a bird, or at least germinate much better if they pass through that digestive journey. In fact, I’ve heard stories of plants that have gone extinct after the bird that feeds on their seeds goes extinct. (This may be enhanced legand, but it certainly seems feasable, so it makes for a good story either way.) Then there’s the story of certain forest trees whose seeds only germinate in the heat of a forest fire, essentially assuring that when the forest does burn, they’re the first plants to germinate in the newly cleared forest, where there’s plenty of light. (This one is well-documented.)
We see this cycle of life everywhere around us – this ripening of a seed, which then becomes the next generation. As a parent, I find great joy in watching my children on their journey of ripening, growing far beyond what I could have imagined when I watched them first sprout. And see them now at an age when yet another generation will soon begin to sprout from the ripening that life now shares with them.
But this process of ripening, journey, germination, and start all over again isn’t something that only exists at the macro level of the passing of one generation to another. Within the life we lead, we should look for places where this cycle is trying to emerge as part of our larger journey through life. We’re not meant to slog along, one step in front of the other, never looking up. We’re meant to mature within each season that life shares with us. Only through this maturing process can we ripen into the fruit and the vessel that’s capable of producing the seed of what we are meant to become next in this lifetime.
The journey of your life to this point has produced the seed of what you can become next. You’ve weathered many storms, and learned quite a bit to become what you are today. But what you are is only the vessel to deliver the seeds of what you can next become. Becoming the better you – the one that your soul and your energy is meant to become next – happens when you let go of the seeds and let them germinate.
The seed itself needs to go on a journey first – it needs some catalyst to help it to germinate. It’s probably different for each of us. For some of us, the seeds our life has produced will germinate best right where they drop. For others, finches will pull from us the seeds we cling to as they migrate past us, giving us a chance to germinate far from where we are today. For others, the heat of some fire is required to break open the seed.
I suspect in most cases, we don’t even know what needs to happen. We probably feel a ripening within us, but cling to the old vessel that we’ve been to this point, afraid to release the seeds of what we need to become next, afraid to let those seeds travel whatever journey they need to travel in order to germinate into the best “next iteration” that we can be. I suspect this is the source of a lot of the depression that we see and feel around us each day.
Are you feeling a bit “ripe” these days? Feeling a bit anxious about what’s next? Feeling a bit underwater or over your head? Feeling a sadness that’s hard to explain?
Maybe it’s time to let the finches take the seeds where they need to go, or let the firestorm scar and open the seed. Maybe the vessel that’s you has worked hard to produce the seed of what you need to become, and now you need to let the seed take its journey and germinate. There’s an even better you that can only emerge when that seed is allowed to take that journey – release it and follow it. Become the better you that you’ve laid the foundation for. Whatever you do, don’t fall down onto the cold damp fall ground and let the seed go to waste.
Embrace it.
Celebrate it.
Release it so you can emerge again – an even better you!
Seed-heads ripen and stand dry on the dead stalks of the Echinacia and Rudbeckia in the garden. The tops of the grasses turn golden as they dry in the autumn sun. The Agastache and Mexican Sage are the last strong flowers in the garden, and with the first hard frosts they die back as well.
To the untrained eye, the garden in autumn represents “the end” of the season, but to the seasoned gardener, the autumn is really the beginning of the next season.
Woody plants cut off nutrients and water to their leaves, as they conserve the energy they’ll need for the upcoming bloom – right after they take a nap… Hardy perennials shed their tops and curl up in the energy of their roots, preparing for the explosion of new growth that’s soon to come – right after they take a nap…
Goldfinches on Echicacia Heads
This is the height of the gardening season for the birds. Goldfinches line up for a place on the drying seed heads to pull morsels out for dinner, beginning the life of new plants that the seeds will produce thanks to the help of the birds. The last of the migrating hummingbirds dine on the Agastache and Mexican Sage, helping them to begin their new year further south. My bird feeders empty twice as fast this time of year, as they’re shared by a few remaining summer residents, most of the new winter residents, and a few migrating guests.
It’s easy to look at this time of year as a time to cut everything back in the garden – to “neaten it up” before winter. But this is a time when the garden needs to stand and prepare for the coming season. Cutting some plants back too fast can trick them into thinking they need to send up new growth now. The multitude of birds depend on the heavy growth that remains in the garden as protection from hungry predators, as well as depending on the seed-heads on the plants as they die back to provide a good diet. For the forbe eating birds, the heavy growth also provides a higher likelihood of some high-protein bug-snacks.
I’ve been moving through a “cleaning out” stage in my life recently. I make weekly trips to the Goodwill store with bags of stuff that it’s time for someone else to have. I’m trying not to go too fast, or to make rash decisions. While it’d be easy to see this time in my life as an “ending”, where it’s time to clean things up as the kids have moved on to their own lives. I choose instead to see it as only the beginning of the next growing season. I need to move slowly through the cleaning process and keep the garden healthy. As the winter moves along, I’ll need to continue to cut things back in their time, and keep the garden as healthy as I can for the next stage of this new growing season.
Happy gardening. Enjoy that standing grass and the seed-heads as the birds enjoy the meal. Look forward to the snow that’ll keep the roots warm as they’re curled up for the winter. Keep checking those closets and corners for stuff that it’s time somebody else took off your hands…
They arrived a week or so ago. They’re really quite beautiful. I moved them across to the bike, and have done just a little riding on them so far. Besides being beautiful, I LOVE the way they feel and handle.
Jude Kirstein built the wheels for me. I’m sure I was a difficult customer for her, as I really couldn’t give her very good direction on the aesthetics of the wheels, and she really wanted that direction from me. I needed her guidance and “vision” about what the wheels could become aesthetically, and she needed me to approve and be OK with things before she’d build them.
I get that about the position that Jude was in – I really do. She runs a small business, and she couldn’t afford to build a set of wheels that I’d reject. We went around a bit, and I was clearly extremely conservative – feeling comfortable with black. While she suggested some other colors that we could do for the hubs, I was clearly resisting out of my lack of vision. Then, at the last minute, I asked my daughter for advice, and she recommended blue hubs and nips. Jude was going to do just plain black since this was clearly my comfort zone, but Anna pushed me out of that comfort zone just a bit.
I’m really glad we went with blue. The wheels are truly beautiful, and very classy. I’ll update my “review” of the wheels after a few thousand miles, but for now, I love the look of them and the feel of them, and I think Jude did a great job.
But the important stuff is the dynamics of how things came together. Since I lacked the vision to see what might be in the wheels, and Jude was leary of creating something I might not like, I almost ended up with really boring wheels. Thanks to Anna, we punched out of that really boring place to end up with beautiful wheels.
But, is there an even better set of wheels that live somewhere in Jude’s imagination, that could be on my bike right now?
How often do we allow our fear of disappointing someone else keep us from allowing the truly spectacular to emerge from our imagination? Creativity involves risk, and creativity that allows the spectacular to emerge requires truly great courage.
Creativity comes from the soul, courage comes from the heart, and fear comes from the mind. We need to find ways to quiet the mind more often, and allow the heart to clear the path for the soul.
I love the new wheels, with zero reservation. I’ll write more as I spend more time on them. But to young folks like Jude, listen to your soul, and let your heart fight for the truly spectacular that wants to emerge.
The recent Pew study that found Atheists and Agnostics had greater knowledge of traditional religion (such as Christianity) than did Christians seems to surprise quite a few people.
See the study results here, but the summary is that folks were asked a series of 32 questions about religion. Nearly half of the questions were specifically about Judea-Christian knowledge of the Bible and Judea-Christian religion. The other half of the questions were a mix of questions about religion in the larger world, religion and the constitution, etc.
Folks who identified themselves as Christian did not do well on this survey. In fact, the folks who were the most knowledgable about religion were folks who identified themselves as either Agnostic or Atheist. It should be noted that those who identified themselves as Jewish were not far behind the Agnostics and the Atheists. Mormons scored well too. (I should note that it appears that Mormons are lumped in with Christians, so the Christian scores without the Mormon help would have been dismal…)
One other thing that jumped out at me: Those who said that they took Scripture literally – that they thought that the Bible represented the actual words of G-d – those folks scored significantly lower in actual knowledge, while those who did not believe the Bible should be taken literally scored significantly higher in actual knowledge.
Surprised? The results make sense to me. Folks who’ve gone to the trouble of thinking through religion, and have consciously decided to call identify as Agnostic or Atheist have probably asked tougher questions, and have probably gone through more analysis and study to arrive at their conscious decision. My guess is that if you were able to pull out the folks who called themselves Christian AND who’ve arrived at that identification through the same analysis and study would probably do as well as the Agnostics and the Atheists – they’d probably do even better.
On the other hand, if you accept Religion as something that just is, and you don’t ask questions about it, you probably don’t know much about it. In fact, you probably don’t see it as a problem that you don’t know much about it. You’ve decided to drink the kool-aid without questioning what’s in it.
The results point toward the need to dig in and ask tough questions of religion. Be willing to push against the places where there aren’t good answers. Accept uncertainty regarding where your questions may take you, and be willing to embrace the mystery of the places you might end up.
I don’t buy that asking the questions will lead a person automatically to a lack of faith. In fact, I strongly believe that it’s the job of religion to encourage folks to ask the tough questions, and to help them to journey toward relationship with G-d. Because at the end of the journey most people will, in fact, find G-d. Sure there will be many who don’t find G-d, but I many people will.
Whether the person who took the journey ended up finding G-d or not finding G-d, it’s the journey itself that’s important. Agnostics and Atheists appear to be more open to taking the journey, although many might argue that they’ve predetermined that they’ll not find G-d on the journey. Sure there are some of those, just like there are some Christians who predetermine that they will find G-d.
I say, give it a whirl – step out onto the dance floor – take the journey!
I’ve got a friend who lost the end of his finger a while back. They found it, and thanks to the wonders of modern medicine were able to reattach the tip to the finger – minus just a touch more than the width of a saw blade…
Talking with him a couple weeks ago, he was describing how frustrating it was growing accustomed to the new finger, now that it was healed and becoming “usableâ€. Seems that the nerve connections didn’t come back together well, so that fingertip has very little sensation. My friend says that he never realized just how much he depended on sensitive fingertips to get the most mundane tasks done in the day, not to mention the more demanding tasks. To add insult to injury, he’s noticed that it’s not only the inability to sense touch to do fine work that’s a problem, but also the inability to feel pain. He was doing some work in the driveway the other day, and when he got into the house, he noticed that he had banged the end of his finger up badly, and wasn’t even aware that he’d done it.
Seems funny, doesn’t it, that we miss the ability to feel pain? Our fingertips need sensitive touch in order to operate as effective tools, and they need a highly developed sense of pain in order to keep them safe – safety does not equal lack of pain.
I suppose if I didn’t want to use my hands as effectively as possible – just keep them in my pockets all the time – these things wouldn’t be so important. Wouldn’t really matter if they were able to work as highly developed tools, and wouldn’t really matter if they felt pain – I’d just keep ‘em safe by keeping ‘em out of harm’s way all the time. But then, I would have chosen to cripple myself by taking my hands out of play.
Listening to him, it struck me that the exact same principles and notions that apply to our ability to develop and leverage our physical assets, (like our amazing hands and fingers), apply to our ability to develop and leverage our social and emotional assets as well.
Negotiating the emotional perils of treachery, betrayal, and the other bumps and bruises that are part of the human social landscape, we’re sure to feel a good deal of pain now and then. But it’s all just part of developing that important social sensitivity that allows us to interact closely with those around us. We could keep our social and emotional hands in our pockets, so to speak, and avoid any risk of pain, though doing so would keep us from developing tender sensitivity that brings us together with others in this life – it would cripple us socially.
Last evening I got home from a fishing trip, and my Brittany Spaniel was delighted to see me. She laid down next to me, and was in heaven as I softly caressed the back of her head and all around her ears, occasionally letting my fingers lightly work their way through the soft curls on top of her shoulders. I thought of my friend, and was thankful to have the sensitive fingertips that allowed me to create the wonderful interface between myself and my dog. Her half-closed eyes made me think she was thankful too…
To some extent, we get to choose how much we’re willing to feel in life, but we don’t get to choose to feel only the stuff that “feels goodâ€. Greater sensitivity allows us to build stronger and more effective tools for sure, but we’ve got to be willing to slog through the painful stuff in the process. The painful stuff reminds us of the strength of the tools we’re building, and as my friend discovered, the pain is often an pretty darned effective way of preventing us from doing real harm to ourselves…
Where in my life, I wonder, have I chosen to keep my social and emotional hands in my pockets – keeping ‘em safe – and subsequently missing wonderful opportunities to feel wonder and peace? I’m sure there are places where I’ve avoided pain by avoiding risk, but at what cost? How many soft floppy ears have gone unscratched?
On the first day of our ride, Dave’s morning began with a flat tire before he even got on the bike. Here on the final day, he’s greeted again by a flat tire as we roll the bikes out of the hotel room before dawn. Like a pair of bookends, a flat to begin the ride, a flat to end it. This one, however, we’re changing under the lights outside the hotel door, on a humid morning, with hungry mosquitoes all around us. Needless to say, we’re as quick as we can be getting the flat fixed, into the saddle and headed down the road.
One of the things about today that’s even nicer than most days of our ride is that Carol is schlepping our stuff to our destination. She’s going to tour Lindsborg in the morning, then meet us in Hoisington around noon, which is when we figure we’ll get there. Not that we have a lot of stuff to schlep, but it’s nice to lose the 20# sitting on the back of the bike.
Sunrise on the plains
The ability of the human mind and body to adapt to and “meld with†a tool is more than just interesting to me – it exhilarates me when I experience it. On this ride, the degree to which my mind and body are connected to my bike has become increasingly evident, and I notice it again this morning as we take off. The loss of the trunk on the back of my bike makes the bike feel fast and responsive beneath me. I’ve become adjusted to the heavier bike, and the way it responds, but now getting the bike back closer to the balance that it has when not touring makes me smile, and touches that place in my mind that loves to meld with tools.
I grew up in a time when all the boys played baseball. I played baseball a lot, and loved it. Earlier in the summer, I met my brother to fish for a few days, and we both brought baseball gloves. We stood out in the street and threw that ball back and forth for 15 minutes or so. There was something absolutely magical about what was happening during those 15 minutes.
Before we threw the ball the first time, I started to feel that magic as I slipped my hand into my old mitt. Even though it had essentially been 40 years since I’d put that glove on, I could feel the leather welcome my hand like a dear old friend welcomes a best friend after a long absence. The familiar smell of the worn leather, the look of it, the weight of it on my hand, everything about the glove on my hand brought my mind into a zone of familiar harmony that can only happen when you experience that integration of body, tool, and mind that is so uniquely human.
Picking up the baseball, feeling the perfect size of it beneath my fingers, feeling the stitches fit perfectly beneath my fingertips as I handled the ball. All these sensations heightened my already keen sense of harmony. I threw the ball, and that familiar arc and release of the arm brought a warm smile to my heart – I suspect my face was smiling as well.
While the 40 years of absence disappeared in an instant as it relates to the feel and sensation of the glove, and of throwing the ball, other aspects of the experience had, shall we say, lost a bit in the period of absence. 40 years ago, I could throw the ball pretty hard, and with a good deal of accuracy. When Erik and I played catch that day, I was shocked at how many times the ball fell short of the mark I was aiming for. This inability of the body to perform to the standards that the mind/body interface remembers is humbling for sure, but frankly I felt a strong drive to start throwing the ball more, so that I could either approach the standard that my mind recalled, or reset the standard, so that I could find that complete delight that I yearned for.
This melding of human and tool happens when we spend a great deal of time with a particular thing. Our mind/body coordination adapts to the exact dimensions and weight and shape of the thing we’re using, and it becomes wired into us. The “thing†becomes part of us – almost like an arm or a leg is part of us. I really think that our mind develops an attachment to the thing, much like it would to an arm or a leg. At some deep level, the “thing†becomes a part of “meâ€.
I’ll bet there’s an evolutionary advantage to the delight we gain when we meld with a “thing†in this way. Our march toward dominance of the planet has been largely enabled by our ability to use tools so effectively, so it makes sense to me that finding delight in extremely close harmony with a tool – a fascination and exhilaration with “being one with†a tool – would make us more likely to find ways to use tools more effectively with each generation.
Neil with elevators in the background - elevators were a constant across the prairie
This morning, what I know is that I’m delighted by the light and responsive feel of my bike. Just like I smiled when I slipped my old baseball glove on when I played catch with my brother earlier in the summer, I’m smiling at the familiar feel of the bike I love beneath me. I love my bike, I really do.
We stop at the c-store on the way out of town, and grab some fluid and a quick bite of fuel. As I’m stepping out of the door, I notice Dave using his cell phone. I’ve seen him messing with his cell phone before at the beginning of the day, and never really thought about it – I guess I assumed he was checking messages from work or something. But this morning, I come to understand what this cell-phone ritual is.
It’s slick really, and I’m impressed. The computer on the bike keeps track of when we’re rolling and when we’re still, how far we go, how fast we go, and all that. But Dave is applying a little technology to a much more simple approach to how far we go in a day, and how long it takes us to do it. First thing in the morning, as we leave the c-store and hit the highway, Dave sends himself a text message, which records the time. Then, at the end of the day, when we look at each other and decide to call it a day, Dave sends himself another text message. When the trip is all over, we have an official beginning and ending time for each day.
While this might not sound like a big deal, it’s actually quite useful. The bike computers recorded our average times while we were riding, but this doesn’t account for all the time we spend messing around, eating, taking pictures, all of that. Dave’s method allowed us to bookend the days with start and stop times, and just count the miles in between.
Dave riding on up the road
Just one more of Dave’s “counting†things. And as is often the case with these counting things that he does, this one lifted the veil from an interesting little piece of information. That is, our average speed across days was almost identical, no matter what we did and no matter what the wind did.
Of course, any logical reader just re-read that last sentence a couple times, and is dead certain that I either typed it wrong, or somehow or another I just don’t know how to add and average. But I’m tellin’ ya’, it’s absolutely true. In the next chapter, I’m going to talk about some of the expected and unexpected lessons we learned on this ride, and I’ll detail out our daily stats. For now, let me just say that regardless of wind, road,humidity, heat, mileage, mood, moon phase, or anything else, our daily speed including both rolling time and stopped time averaged about 11 mph. Amazingly, the days with tailwinds were NOT the days with the higher averages.
It’s completely counter-intuitive. However, our final day highlights something for me that – as I’ll look back on it later – will help me to get my head around what I think is going on.
On this final day, as we leave the c-store and head out of town, the weather is wonderful once again. The humidity feels good on my face and in my lungs as I ride, and the weatherman promised a NE wind today – a quartering tailwind for us as we ride pretty much due west. Leaving town before any wind has started at all, I’m once again sitting up in the saddle, spending a good deal of time watching the scenery around me, enjoying one more perfect morning.
Quintessential mid-Kansas landscape
We’re deep in the heart of cultivated land, surrounded by young beans, ripening corn, and freshly cut wheat fields. I watch several groups of whitetail deer on the edges of the fields. In some cases they’re using the last few minutes of low light to grab the last snacks before daylight, but generally they’re moving quietly along the edge between the trees and the field, or rapidly across the field headed for that edge where they feel comfortable. In the low light they’re hard to see, but once you find the pattern in your mind’s eye, they start to pop out at you in quite a few of the fields. By the time the sun has crested the horizon and started to shine into the fields, there isn’t a deer to be seen anywhere.
I stop to take pictures several times along the highway. The air is heavy with humidity, painting the landscape with a soft, attractive blanket. This is one of those conditions that I find tough to catch with the camera, so looking back on the pictures later I’ll be disappointed. But this morning, I’m enjoying myself.
We assumed there’d be some good breakfast options along the way when we started out this morning, but we make an early tactical mistake. We pass the turnoff to the little town of Marquette as it’s still pretty early, assuming that we’ll be able to find something else within the hour. If you check out Marquette with Google maps, you’ll see that they’ve got a nice cafe downtown, as well as a c-store. The savvy rider will stop here for a meal, as it’s longer than you expect to the next place to eat.
There’s a certain rhythm that we’ve come to expect along the highway with respect to when we’ll find services, and as I ride this morning, I’m coming to learn a bit about how this rhythm is determined by the nature of who uses the highway, and what they use it for.
Along US-160 across the southern part of Kansas, folks who are traveling are a combination of local residents running errands and doing business, as well as regional residents who are traveling many dozens of miles – maybe 100 miles or more in many cases. In addition, there are a few travelers who are using the highway as their route across the state – traveling many hundreds of miles. Consequently, it’s likely that there’ll be folks who want to stop for refreshments now and again, so in each little town we were able to find a c-store and generally a place to sit and eat.
However, along K-4, you’ll find only local traffic. Anyone traveling east and west for any significant distance will be traveling along I-70, which is not that far north of K-4. Folks on the road are just moving along from point to point, with no need for stops between. Consequently, it’s unlikely that a business would spring up along the way to support those travelers who’d want to stop for some reason – nobody’s stopping.
Tip for the savvy rider: When riding from Lindsborg to Hoisington, it’s probably a good idea to stop in Marquette for breakfast…
It’s not long after passing Marquette that I get the inkling that we’re not going to have our tailwind today. For a few miles we’re headed SW, and it’s definitely a headwind along that stretch, though a very light one. Turning back due west, it feels like when the wind varies from the S, it varies so that it comes slightly from the W. Again, it’s a very light wind, but I’m feeling a little cheated that the promised tailwind has become a crosswind, with a tiny flavor of quartering headwind every now and again.
My reaction is predictable in the face of a wind – I put my head down and go to work.
My mind readjusts quickly to the new events, and resets the expectation for the speed that I’ll ride and how much work it will take to ride. While slightly disappointed, I’m real OK with things – it’s a short ride today, and the wind is light, and it’s a crosswind not a headwind. It’s OK.
But that initial reaction – that “putting my head down and getting to work†– is the key to understanding the fact that our average daily speed was essentially the same regardless of how hard the riding was. Maybe it wouldn’t be the same with everyone – maybe it’s unique to Dave and I. Maybe everyone reacts to things much differently. But I think this little quirk explains why our average daily speed was always the same.
Here’s what happens, (to quote Mr. Monk).
When the wind’s at my back, and the riding’s easy, then I sit up and relax. I spend my energy enjoying my surroundings, being a part of where I am. I fall into the “moment†by reaching out and connecting to what’s around me. I see more, and stop more, and ride easier. I consciously take it easy in order to enjoy my surroundings, and let myself connect.
When the wind’s in front of me, my mindset changes completely. Now, the component of the “moment†that becomes foremost in my mind is the wind, and my need to put my head down and work against the wind. I still find little places where my head comes up and I appreciate what’s around me, but my primary focus is finding and maintaining that sweet spot where my body’s producing efficient work. I fall into the “moment†by reaching inside of me, and finding the harmony of efficient output.
I suppose most folks would scold the second scenario – the condition where I put my head down and work. Most folks would probably say that its better to find a way to enjoy your surroundings even when the work is hard, or maybe to ease off the pedals and just go really slow to avoid too much focus on the work. But I don’t buy that.
I think there’s real joy in hard work. I think we’ve lost touch with that real joy in our culture. I’m certain there are many readers who focus on what I’m missing when I put my head down and work hard. And they’re right – I am missing quite a bit when I do that. That side of the equation is easy for any of us to see, and easy to understand.
Late sunrise on the final day
But there’s a balance to everything. Every time I give something up, there’s something that comes back to balance what I’ve given up. Every time I take something, there’s something I’m giving up. If I reach to pick something up, I have to empty my hand first, right?
And that thing on the other side of this balance beam is the pure joy that comes from hard work. While we’ve come to think of hard work as something to be avoided, we’ve been missing the joy and benefit that it brings into our life. Our culture has built this myth that doing manual labor is a bad thing, and that if we’re successful in life, we can avoid the need to do hard physical labor. While our economy richly rewards executives who sit on their ass all day and wouldn’t know the business end of a shovel if it hit ‘em across the side of the head, it punishes those who spend their days using their hands and their backs to actually produce something – to actually do productive labor.
This balance beam feels to me a bit like that balance between giving and taking. When I sit up and relax – taking in my surroundings – it falls more on the “taking†side of the equation. There’s joy in it for sure, and I love it when it happens. But there’s more to life than just taking it in.
Not that I’m actually “making†anything when I put my head down and ride harder into the wind. It’s still a very selfish action in many ways because in the end it produces joy for me. It’s just that I’m pouring something of myself into what’s around me, and this is what produces the joy inside of me. At the end of the day, there’s surely a sense of accomplishment that comes with that sense of exhaustion, and I’m sure that’s part of what creates the joy in hard work.
But there’s more to it. Earlier I talked about that sweet spot that occurs when the heart rate, respiration rate, and cadence all seem to come together into a sweet harmony. That’s a harmony that only happens at high work output – I’ve never found it otherwise. There’s no waiting for a sense of accomplishment in that case – the joy is right there in the moment – right there in the “doingâ€.
At the end of the day, for all those who criticize those of us who put our heads down and hold our nose to the grindstone rather than sitting up and relaxing and enjoying the moment, I say I get it, and I think you’re right in many cases. However, I’d also say I think there are other ways to enjoy the moment, and other shades and complexions of joy. I’d recommend you find some ways to do hard work whenever you can, and begin to look for the joys locked up in those places where we put our back into the work and let the work carry us away.
Today is a mix, with some moments spent enjoying what’s around me, and some moments putting by back into it and enjoying the work.
Why Aren’t Cattle Truck Drivers As Courteous As Other Truck Drivers?
This might not be a fair question. It’s an over-generalization for sure. But here’s the deal: 35 years ago when I rode on these same highways, it seemed pretty consistent that the truck drivers who were the most dangerous were the ones driving cattle trucks. For years, I figured that wasn’t a fair generalization, and that it probably just seemed that way since so many of the trucks in this part of the country are cattle trucks after all.
In the interest of full disclosure, I need to say that I spent a few years as an over-the-road truck driver in my 20’s. I have no axe to grind with truck drivers – my experience as a cyclist and as a truck driver has been that truck drivers are generally the most safe and courteous drivers on the road. They have to be – their livelihood (and their life) depends on how safe they make the road around them.
But to this point in our ride, the pattern that I’ve been seeing supports my observations from the past on these roads. For whatever reasons, if there’s dangerous behavior on the part of a truck driver, the odds seem pretty good that the truck is a cattle truck.
And this morning is no exception to that “ruleâ€.
The highway along here is much the same as it’s been since we turned onto K4 back at Alta Vista. There’s no shoulder, but the road itself is in pretty good shape. The traffic is so light that nearly always, when a car or truck is passing, they move all the way over into the oncoming lane to pass. I can’t tell you how appreciative a cyclist is when a driver does that. Especially when the driver of a truck does that.
It just makes sense to do that, doesn’t it? Weren’t we all taught as youngsters to respect and take care of the little guy? Aren’t most of our traffic laws designed with that ethic in mind – for the bigger to yield to the smaller? It’s just a matter of common sense, courtesy, and respect. I work hard to maintain that ethic of respect when I drive a vehicle. Even when I ride my bike, I work hard to always yield to a pedestrian or a slower bike.
I’ve noticed as the miles have rolled along on this ride that my ears have gotten quite good at predicting how much space a vehicle is giving me from the sound as they approach. I do wear a mirror, but as a vehicle is approaching, I like to focus all my attention on staying straight and predictable on the road. Twice this morning already, cattle trucks have passed quite close – barely moving over at all as they pass me. Behind me I hear a truck approaching, and it sounds like it’s not going to give me much room. I focus intently on holding the wheels right on the white line, and am nearly blown over as the cattle truck passes within inches of me rather than feet.
There’s no reason he needed to do this. If he moved at all from the center of the lane, it was over to the right to crowd me even more. There was no oncoming traffic, and the road ahead was free and clear for him to see that he had all the road he needed. Purely and simply, he was being an ass. Worse than that, it would have taken only a small variance in my line and he could easily have killed me. I watch ahead as he does the same thing to Dave.
What’s this about? Why on earth does he want to risk the lives of cyclists on the road, and his own ability to make a living driving a truck when he eventually kills someone – because eventually it’s likely he will? This selfish aspect of human nature, this ugly piece of who we are that wants everything for ourself rather than looking for ways to share what we have – especially when sharing costs us nothing, is a piece of our evolutionary makeup that it would sure be nice to find a way to get rid of…
Because at the end of the day, isn’t that what this is most likely about? If you drug that guy out from behind the wheel of that truck, and beat the snot out of him and asked him why he’s being so stupid, most likely he’d have some response that would sound something like, “bikes don’t belong on the highwayâ€. We’ll argue the ups and downs of that later, but for now, let’s let him think he makes some sense, and ask another question: If he saw a little old lady walking down the middle of the road, would he try and run her over? There’s no question she shouldn’t be walking down the middle of the road, but there’s plenty of road, and it’s no big deal to move over a bit and avoid running her over. Just common sense and common courtesy – there’s more road than anyone needs. Now expand that to the bicycle, which does, in fact, have a place on the road, and try to justify attempting to running a cyclist off the road. Pure and simple, that’s what he was doing – trying to run us off the road – his road in his own mind.
Let’s talk more about that later…
Bikes at Cheyenne Bottoms turnout
We’re approaching Hoisington, and we can see the grain elevators in the distance. We pull out at the last highway marker of the trip, and read about the Cheyenne Bottoms Refuge, which we’re now on the edge of. We take the final picture of the bikes there at the pullout, saddle back up and head into Hoisington. It takes us no time at all to find a bar that’s open for lunch downtown, and call Carol and Peggy and let them both know where we are. It’s no surprise to either of them that we’ve found beer and fried food…
After we’ve had a beer and some fried bar food, we pack up the bikes into our respective vehicles. We make the acquaintance of a fella’ who might be traveling through Hoisington, and who might just be a local homeless guy, depending on which complexion of his story you believe. He’s carrying a veritable junkyard worth of old bike gear with him on his old mountain bike, including a couple of extra wheels. It’s tempting to believe that he really is making his way across the country as he says, and that our paths just happened to cross here on Main Street in Hoisington. But as is sometimes the case with folks who find themselves outcast and homeless in our culture, this fella’ seems to be a sandwich or two shy of a picnic.
Regardless, we enjoy the little conversation we have with the guy, and have fun pretending his story is true. It might just be true, but either way, it’s a fun story to listen to. We smile and nod, and he enjoys telling the story.
We make up stories about ourselves that fit the image that we want to believe in about who we are. We’re prone to stretch the truth of these stories a bit here and there to make ‘em fit better. So long as the story we tell is a good one, then people find us interesting, and we feel good about ourselves, right? Just a little grain of truth – that’s all it takes for a story to be a good one. I suppose the only difference between this homeless fella and me is that the stories I make up about me are a little more grounded in a believable reality – but probably only slightly so.
Peggy’s cousin Steve is a world-class storyteller. It’s truly a gift. He’ll tell ya’ straight up that a good bit of what he tells might stretch the truth here and there, or might embellish a spot or two that needed embellishing. But it’s part of a good story – fillin’ in the spots that need fillin’ in, and pullin’ out those pieces that don’t fit that well.
Because it’s about the story we want to believe, and the story is always about the journey we’re on. Whether our homeless friend is headed where he thinks he’s headed, or even if he has no idea where he’s headed, he’s building the story of who he is, and we wish him good luck and many blessings on his journey.
Our adventure is over for now. We’re feelin’ pretty good about the trip we just took. We’re already starting to embellish the stories we’ll tell about the trip. We’re 100% positive that we’ll continue this wonderful tradition with another adventure next summer, but time will judge that promise.
Like all journeys, ours between this ending and the next beginning might take many unexpected turns. When we hit Winfield, we turned our back to the wind and decided to ride where the wind took us. No doubt some of that will happen on our journey to the next adventure. Whether we’re headed where we think we’re headed, or even if we’re completely doped up on where it is that we’re sure we’re headed, we’ll hope for good luck and many blessings between now and the next adventure.
You stand on the near bank of the Rubicon, knowing the way forward takes you to the other side. Once crossed, it’s a river that can’t be uncrossed. Behind is all that’s familiar, ahead is all that’s uncertain.
But when the path ahead lies on the far bank, how long do you sit on the near bank and worry about the path behind, rather than focusing on the path ahead? Do you know in your soul the crossing should be made – the crossing that can’t be undone? You can only get to the other side by leaving this side.
Maybe your job is draining the soul from you through mediocrity. The job is familiar, and some days feel “good enoughâ€. It’s a hard crossing to choose. The ear of your soul hears the path on the other side.
Maybe you have a good job now, but on the other side you see the path of a great opportunity. You like your current job, but the song your soul hears from the other side can’t be ignored.
Maybe it’s a new baby coming into your life soon, and the crossing’s already begun. You’re scared and worried about the path on the other side, but like friends waving in the rear-view mirror as you drive away, you see clearly your old comfortable life fading behind as the far shore of the Rubicon you’re crossing comes closer.
Maybe it’s a decision to go back to college, and leave the routine you’ve become accustomed to. To force yourself into a new routine that leads to places unknown. Maybe it’s an upcoming college graduation. College life is predictable and protected, and the job market’s been lousy for years. What waits on the other side? What will you make of your life when you step away from this near shore?
To quote Caesar, “Let us march where we are called by such a divine intimation. The die is cast.”
Life’s path brings us many times to the edge of the Rubicon. In most cases, we’re called to paths on the far shore, while still held to paths on the near shore. The decision to cross isn’t often easy, and crossing might not always be the right answer. But in all cases, if we’re standing at the bank of the Rubicon, what brought us here? Are we being pushed into the river from behind, or being called from the far shore into the crossing?
My children are all grown, and they’re finding their own crossings, either back into college, or graduating from college, or headed overseas into new jobs. So I’m finding myself spending a great deal of time on the banks of the Rubicon, wondering why my path has brought me here. I’m enjoying the bank of the river, listening carefully with the ears of my soul. It’s good to have age and patience on your side when life leads you to the bank of the Rubicon.
At One. In agreement. Reconciled. To bring together something that was separate. Harmony rising from dissonance.
Bring the words together to make the verb atone. The meaning is the same. To bring into a state of “at one-nessâ€. To come into harmony.
Things become separate for many reasons. I aim for one result, but find another. I miss the mark that I was aiming for. There are several Hebrew words that get translated into the single English word “sinâ€. One of these Hebrew words has exactly this meaning – to miss the mark, as-in an archer missing his mark.
Standing on the bridge between the past and the future, I can look back and see where I missed the mark, and ended up with a different outcome than I aimed for. Where I caused a break or ill feelings in a relationship. Where I sought harmony, and instead created dissonance. I accept responsibility, and seek to “put right†what I can – I atone – I try to bring back the state of “at-one-nessâ€.
The English language has a way to turn the verb atone into a noun. We simply add “ment†to the end of the verb, and we create the noun. Atonement. The “state†of having brought together that which was separate, having mended what needs mending, having found harmony from dissonance.
The path to the state of atonement requires action on our part. We must choose to put right what we’ve broken. Looking back down the path behind, where do I see separation? Where do I hear dissonance? What actions are required of me to bring together what’s separate, to allow harmony to emerge from dissonance?
Soon I’ll look in front of me down the path to the future, and make decisions about how to move forward. Doing this requires me to understand how and why I missed the mark in the past. Understanding the darkness in yesterday helps me bring light into tomorrow.
Accepting responsibility. Making amends. Asking forgiveness. Accepting the Light that comes with At-One-Ness…
When designing a garden, we like to create “transition momentsâ€. A transition moment is a place to stop as you move along the garden path. A place to stop and look forward and backward. Looking backward lets us see the path we’ve been walking on, and the garden we’ve been walking through, only now from another perspective. Looking forward lets us evaluate the path in front of us.
A transition might be defined by a wide spot in the path, or a wide spot accompanied by a sharp turn, or maybe a bridge. The best “transition moments†in a garden force us to make a decision, to decide on one path or another, to aim for one place in the garden or the other.
Along the path of life, we’re presented with transition moments all the time – probably far more often than we realize. Sometimes they’re planned moments, sometimes they’re ritual moments, and sometimes they’re moments of surprise that jump out of the bushes at us. Sometimes they’re all 3 at once.
Jewish tradition marks the passing of each year as one of those important transition moments in life. Each year, Rosh Hashanah marks the bridge that we cross from one year to the next. On that bridge, we stand and reflect – to look back and to look forward. In looking back, we honestly accept responsibility for the path that we’ve walked for the past year, looking directly into the eye of both the good and the bad for which we’re responsible.
On a garden path, a well-designed “transition moment†will hold me for a few minutes. It won’t rush me forward onto the next section of path, but will hold me a moment, to enjoy the reflection and appreciation that the moment offers.
As we pause on the bridge between the years at Rosh Hashanah, we take the time for reflection and appreciation. We don’t rush forward into the next year, but take the time to reflect and understand. We make decisions thoughtfully and intentionally. Jewish tradition defines this period as the High Holy Days that begin with Rosh Hashanah, and progress for 10 days toward Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement.
Rosh Hashanah begins this evening at sundown for Jews around the world. I wasn’t raised with Jewish tradition, but I’m quite taken by this holiday period and what it represents. While this might not be a holiday that I celebrate by tradition, I can incorporate its sacred lessons, habits, and behavior into the next 10 days of my life. I can look for way to see this as a bridge upon which I pause and reflect, looking back down across the path that I’ve been walking.
