Metaphor

I'm always taken aback when literary critics describe a long-ago work as a metaphor for this or that, when there is no evidence that the author intended it as such. On the other hand, I appreciate the fact that readers have the right to extrapolate whatever metaphor they might like from any work, or any experience, for that matter. I am myself a great fan of metaphors, and love seeking them out in everyday life.

As many of you know, I recently completed my first 100-mile bike ride, a fairly grueling accomplishment for a 53 year old, and one of which I am pretty proud. As my childhood hero Clint Eastwood, aka Harry Callahan, said in the 1973 classic, Magnum Force, "A man needs to know his limitations." As one who believes knowledge can only come through direct experience, one must do to know. I now know that my cycling limitation, on a 70 degree day with light winds on a semi-hilly course with adequate nutrition and hydration and a reliable lightweight road bike, is something above 100 miles. No, that's not a metaphor, just an empirical deduction extrapolated from direct experience...

Nonetheless, when one spends more than six hours in the saddle riding solo through the countryside, it is almost inevitable that one will experience a metaphor or two in the process. Following, then, are a few that occurred to me during this ride...

In life, we will find ourselves facing stiff headwinds at times, and favorable tailwinds at others, likewise with ascents and descents of varying intensity. What I've come to realize in my year or so of semi-serious cycling, only reinforced during this first century ride, metaphorically speaking, is that these are to be recognized for what they are, neither blessing nor curse - simply conditions. There is no point in lamenting those which are unfavorable, nor extravagantly celebrating the favorable - both will change as you just keep pedaling. And we have little choice but to keep pedaling, unless we choose to quit. I don't...

At the same time and for the same reason, I find it counterproductive to ignore the blessings which come our way. I know that there are many who will coast when they find themselves on a downhill or with a favorable tailwind. My modus operandi, on the other hand, is to continue to push, even under the most favorable of conditions. Why? Because, as mentioned earlier, conditions will change. By taking maximum advantage of favorable conditions when they exist, we place ourselves in a superior position for the time in which less favorable conditions present themselves. I believe that in the six and a half hours or so during which I was actually riding, I probably coasted for no more than three minutes. With no evidence to the contrary, I choose to believe this was a winning strategy for me.

It didn't hurt that I knew there was a definite end to this trek, which somewhat mitigates it as a metaphor for life, which we know will have an end, but with not an inking of when or where it might come...

A second metaphor was the concrete realization that stopping on an uphill is a very bad idea, regardless of the circumstance. A friend came out to meet me around the 40 mile mark, and when he spotted me he thoughtfully drove on to the next downhill, not wanting to stop me in the middle of a climb. That is a true sign of friendship! I think too often even well-meaning friends, inspired by compassion, might encourage us to take a break while in the midst of confronting some life challenge. The reality is that, once the break is over, the challenge remains to be overcome, getting started once stopped can be increasingly difficult, and for many of us it can prove impossible. In cycling, we call this "bonking," the ultimate failure. Thanks, Michael, for not bonking me...

A third metaphor surrounds the advisability of planning and preparation. Uncharacteristically for me, I actually went out and drove the course the day before. A friend had thoughtfully mapped it out for me, and while I trusted his judgment, it was totally unfamiliar territory for me, and I wanted to know in advance what I would be facing. Sometimes we have this luxury in life, although less often than we would like. As a result of having the opportunity, I was even more inclined than I might have been to get a good night's rest, get myself well hydrated, get all the calories and carbohydrates on board that I could manage, and to dress appropriately and flexibly. There is no question I could have planned and prepared more, and will for the next, but having done what I did I was able to achieve my objective, and in so doing will be better prepared to tackle the next similar challenge.

To torture this metaphor a bit, I have launched myself over the last several years on a spiritual trek which, unlike my little cycling adventure, has no clear road map, too many condition variables to enumerate, and definitely no clear end point. One of the earliest books on Buddhism I read suggested strongly that it was best to follow the well trod path others had charted before us. This advice I've left largely unheeded. Why? Because I am not at all certain I want to go where others have. I want to know how and where they've gone, because I want to be able to recognize it when I cross their paths, knowing that if I am indeed lost I can simply turn in their direction and get to a safe place.

Like most seekers, I am hard pressed to say when exactly my search began, and know that it has never been one with a fixed destination. Unlike traveling in the physical world with a fixed destination and schedule in mind, the spiritual journey, for me at least, is one in which the journey is in fact the objective - seeing all we can see, learning all we can learn, experiencing all we can experience, and hopefully growing all the while. While I suppose one could apply the same free-spirited approach to a terrestrial cycling adventure, I suspect that at some point one would have a fair chance of winding up bleached bones in a riverbed next to a rusting steed missing its rider. Not a terrible way to go, I guess, as long as there was a nice dose of blunt force trauma to ease you on your way...

Yet another observation which I suppose is somewhat metaphorical, is that of the lone rider. I did throw out a weak invitation for company, but wasn't heartbroken when nobody took me up on it. As it was the most beautiful day in months - a rare gem of an opportunity at the end of January, even in Texas, I relished the chance to challenge myself without the added pressure of pushing or pulling or being pushed or pulled. Truth is, I'm more than a bit of a loner for a lot of reasons we shan't touch upon here. I recognize it as something of a character defect, and am working on it, but it is a reality which cycling seems to reinforce. Interestingly, I'd done a short 25-mile memorial ride for a fallen comrade just the night before - the first time in my life I'd ridden with an organized group working as something of a team. There were certain aspects of it I found quite enjoyable - the teamwork, the drafting, the camaraderie. At other points, though, I was chomping at the bit to hit my own pace, which would have likely been middle of this particular pack. Truth is, I took up cycling for fitness, tend to shut the brain down or at least let it free-wheel, and let my body set the pace. No, mindfulness is probably not an apt description of me at these junctures...

In my hodge-podge personal concoction of mostly eastern philosophy, non-duality and impermanence are probably the top two components. In brief explanation, this is to say that each of us is part of a larger whole, and a larger whole still, with no meaningful line of demarcation between the individual and the universe at large. At the same time, while there is no meaningful "self," the only thing over which we have even a modicum of control is the self. Riding alone through virtually uninhabited countryside, particularly in conditions where there are no extreme conditional challenges, is one of life's experiences, like drifting silently in a canoe down a lazy river or sailing on a pleasant day on a favorable tack or hiking peacefully through a quiet forest or along a high mountain trail, when every aspect of existence from the most central core of individual self-consciousness to the infinite beyond the observable meld into an indescribable unified whole, and you feel like you are part of everything and everything is part of you. And then you suddenly realize just how badly your ass actually hurts...

Truthfully, though, I can only see this experience being enhanced by company if the company is with an individual or group with which you are so in synchronization that its presence only adds and doesn't subtract or distract in the slightest. Something to aspire to, I suppose, but we shan't allow the perfect to be the enemy of the good...

Finally, this journey, like all journeys in life, began with the first downward press on the pedal, the first roll of the wheel. Could as easily have been the first step of a marathon or a cross-country hike. Roads are to be ridden, trails to be hiked, life to be lived. There is a time for contemplation and meditation, a vital past-time to which I need to devote more time and less effort. But to the degree that I intend to live life fully and completely, I will strive to remember to accept life on life's terms, to be grateful for blessings, to persevere against hardships. Perhaps some day I'll learn to be a better friend, companion, and team-mate. Until then, I'll do my best to not get in your way or run over you, and to appreciate your giving me a wide berth as you pass by me, pedaling and daydreaming on a back country road...

As a humorous aside, I noted that my random play IPod was playing a Maria Callas aria as I spun south out of Graham, Texas, a sleepy little burg northwest of Mineral Wells. It was perhaps a juxtaposition that needs to be experienced to be fully appreciated. A short while later I rolled up on a convocation between a flock of turkey vultures on one side of the fence and a herd of cows on the other. The birds flew in one direction while the cows bolted in the other as I approached at moderate speed in my admittedly garish cycling outfit. Out of some 2,000 titles ranging from show tunes and Christmas carols to acid rock, "Gone Country" by Alan Jackson was playing. Yes, I laughed out loud as I rode by...