Becoming one with the dirt

My weigh-in this week was a disaster: 200.2 pounds. Adding to the injury, I've been celebrating my birthday this week. Most of my birthdays go unnoticed, the way I like them. This year I've received three birthday cakes, which I have had to sample out of politeness. They were also very good.

I enjoyed a moment of Zen-like bliss this week, as I try to achieve at least some minimal competency at my latest addiction, mountain biking. As I was pedalling along in a secluded park, three Basic Truths of the Universe came to me, and for no charge I'll share them with you.

• Life is better in the middle ring. Modern mountain bikes have three rings attached to the peddles. The smallest is the "granny gear", named because while you're using it, little old ladies can easily outwalk you. I've spent my time ejoying the safety and slowness of the granny gear. This week I forced myself to use the middle ring, and, guess what? Biking is easier with that gear: you have more speed, more momentum, more stability, and less time to contemplate disaster. It's a paradox, and there's a metaphor in there somewhere I bet.
• Become one with the dirt. For the first time ever I relaxed, eased up on my death-grip of the handlebars, stopped thinking of my orthopedic surgeon, and just felt the flow of the bike, the trail, our friends the birds, the wonders of Gaia, the pure joy of physical activity in a beautiful relaxing setting.
• Don't forget that the dirt really doesn't like you. Just as I was going with the flow, I lost focus, caught my handlebars on a rogue tree while attempting a switchback down a hill, and fell on my keister. Thanks to low dose aspirin, I have a wonderful set of bruises up and down my leg, a love-tap from Gaia. I wish she'd keep her hands to herself.