A friend today was telling me about the biking trails along Lake Natoma where it intersects the American River. It's a beautiful spot, where paddlers enjoy peaceful pleasures and runners can hear their feet hit the earth.
He was telling me why he likes to ride out there, and that on the return he has one challenging hill. Every day, he tries and every day he has to get off the bike and push it up and over. He trains so he will be able to one day scale that hill on the tires. He loves cycling because he can pedal, coast, pedal, coast.
We all love that.
Hills are hard. I admire the spirit of knowing it takes time to feel the tread of those tires as they grip the crest of the hill, to feel the muscles taut and anxious to succeed, the heart wondering if it will happen. I remember knowing what it's like to coast down the other side, resting back on the seat, body relaxed and joyful, savoring a long awaited moment.
Pedal, coast, pedal, coast. I want to walk the hills that make my calves burn and my breath come in short tugs. I want to lean into the heart of the matter to really see what's there, even when what I learn isn't what I want to know. Some trails have a lot of pedaling with no coasting at all. And when we encounter them, we pedal some and walk some and sometimes even lay the bike down and sit on a rock and rub our sore calves. But we all make headway ... and when the terrain flattens out to a smooth ride, we know to savor it.
Pedaling is engaged, controlled progress, where gravity and balance and personal effort mingle to propel us forward. But coasting is where real learning takes place. For in those unexpected moments, in those short exhilirating sensory rides when we take our feet off the pedals and hang on tight, we let life give back. With the wind in our face and the sun on our hair, we steer and laugh and live in the moment. For we learn all too soon the bike begins to wobble a bit and we know it's time to match our feet to the fast moving pedals and start again.
NMcC
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