I’m sitting at my desk clacking on my keyboard, clicking with my mouse, scrolling pages, changing between applications. My eyeballs rarely focus away from the artificial light glaring off my monitors. My posture is less than ideal and rarely changes. My muscles are a little stiff and achy but the monitors distract from that. It’s maybe day three or four of this situation with the only changes in direction being sleep and any short, functional trips I might do which usually relate to whatever is happening on the monitors.
By now I start to notice my thoughts beginning to enter some dark places. Things that aren’t a very big deal begin to seem nagging and troublesome. Things that are actually slightly problematic but otherwise quite surmountable begin to seem like dark, uncrossable oceans dotted with perils in every direction. I start to question myself, doubt myself. It’s like a layer of toxic dust settling over my mind distorting reality, magnifying the unfavourable and filtering out the light.
I know it’s time. I need to pump tyres, pack tools, lube chain links and fill drink bottles. I need to ride far and fast enough to blow that layer of toxic dust off and let the light in again. I know this is a metaphor but it plays out very literally as if the dust is real and the ride is not a want but a need like brushing my teeth or taking a shower. I want to be clean again, to feel rejuvenated, recharged.
Today it’s a mountain bike with a bouncy front end and chunky-tredded, chubby tyres that I’m going to pilot through Ironbark Gully and Bunyaville and join up via the Back Link Trail. There’ll be a mix of flowing, machine cut trails with berms, jumps and drop-offs that the young shredders like to “session” and also rough, hand cut trails, fire roads and hike-a-bike sections that I grew up with.
I’ll reconnect with the Earth with the dirt sticking to my shins, the cold winter air biting at my face and hands, the sun recharging me as it hits my skin. My heart will pound, my legs will burn and the water in the creek crossings and puddles will remind me of where I’m from – where we’re all from. This is the way it really is and should be. It’s inescapable without serious damage. I’m here to disconnect from the all-enveloping machine and plug back in to our origin, our place, our flow. Even if only for a moment and even if aboard a vessel of our own making.
Several tens of kilometres later, I do the final few pedal strokes along my street. I’m home again. The good dust is sticking to me, the toxic dust is gone. I wash down my bike. It’s a ritual – same spot on the grass, same bucket, same rag, same soap, same sequence of cleaning steps over the bike. I lube the bike and put it away. I eat and drink. I shower and change. My treatment is almost complete. I’m almost new again. I’ll sleep early tonight and when I wake the change will be palpable.
Bikes have not failed me yet in clearing life’s toxins from my mind but if they’re not enough for you, be sure to search further. Beyond Blue might be a good start.
Ride safe and see you out there sometime.
