Nowhere

The passion and purity of country life amid such raw landscapes is both humbling and profound. An eternal whistle of wind through the trees is engulfed by a muffled silence in which the noises of ‘stillness’ resonate. With no traffic sounds or yelling neighbors’ voices to be heard, your spirit can soar as high as the bald eagles flying overhead. With nowhere to hide and no one to hide from, the serenity wraps your soul like a warm blanket.

Certainly some would be bored stiff after a couple of days for lack of interesting and exciting activities. “So what is there to do out there?” is a common query, but it’s not about stuff to do; it’s about appreciating the awesome power of ‘calm.’ Still, there’s something deeply emotional about sitting comfortably silent for hours on your own. Embracing LONELINESS lets you get to know yourself in a way that isn’t possible amid constant chaos. After all, the beauty of solitude is what drew Henry David Thoreau to Walden Pond and inspired him to write about the miracles he experienced there. There’s just you and nature, who asks only that you leave your baggage at the door when you cross the proverbial threshold.

Although the hush of ‘quiet’ can be deafening, it is also equalizing, especially if you close your eyes and really listen. The low, howl of a winter wind has a pitch unlike the buzz and hum of summer. Autumn’s crunchy leaves echoing through bare trees strike a different chord from the drone of a fresh, spring rain. These soul-stirring essences conspire with the spectacular colors of a sunrise or sunset leaving you feel drunk with wonder.

I’ll leave you to consider two of my favorite ‘Walden’ excerpts from Thoreau, whose writing is as intoxicating for me as nature itself:

“In proportion as he simplifies his life, the laws of the universe will appear less complex and solitude will not be solitude, nor poverty poverty, nor weakness weakness.”

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear…I wanted to live deep and suck all the marrow of life.”

Reach

  I regarded Serenity as this big red ball stuck in a tree with me endlessly jumping, arms outstretched but unable to grasp my target. Standing on boxes and even using branches to extend my reach were futile in retrieving it. Eventually, I gave up on the Serenity ball and was simply satisfied to distract myself from obsessing over stupid crap. The hard labor of cleaning and gardening were the only remedies that could annihilate my anxious energy. Writing was great for working through problems, but pulling weeds in the garden was my favorite diversion. After all, I could run out of things to clean, but would never run out of weeds.

One late spring day as I knelt beside a garden bed furiously yanking weeds, my oldest son, informed me we needed to hit the local sporting goods store to get him a new baseball bat. Drenched in sweat sporting muddy knees and gloves caked in dirt, I explained it would be ‘a while’ so I could finish the job and shower. He dropped his shoulders as he turned tail and went back inside. Going to town was not what I had in mind that sunny Saturday afternoon. I wanted to hide in the garden all day and at least make a dent in the new weeds that seemed to sprout up before my eyes. As I stood up to shake the layers of dirt from my gloves, my back creaked and I suddenly felt 100 years old. Maybe a break would be good after all. I went to the back porch, peeled off my dirty shirt and pants leaving them lay beside the sliding door. Grabbing the hose, I used the sprayer to rinse most of the dirt from my arms and legs. A stray hand towel found draped over a chair let me dry off before heading indoors.

Dick’s Sporting Goods was packed with people that day as the weekend shoppers were out in full force. Wanting to avoid the crowds (as much as possible anyway), I parked far from the door and away from the other cars. Inside, my son went to try out the bats and I decided to wander around the store to mark time while he looked. I ended up in the back of the store in ‘Shoes’ alone and grateful for the solitude. As I was checking out running shoes, he came up behind me sporting a smile and a shiny blue aluminum bat propped over one shoulder.

“Hey, we should look at bikes,” he said.

Oddly enough, the bike section was right next to the shoes, so we meandered that way. He immediately found a trail bike he thought he had to have and a glance at the price tag sent my eyes rolling back into their sockets.

“Yea, right,” was all I could say.

As I walked away from him, he set down his bat and attempted to ‘test drive’ the bike down the short aisle. I tried to ignore him and started looking at the women’s bikes. A salesman approached me asking if we needed help with anything.

“No, we’re just browsing right now, thanks,” I offered forcing myself to avoid his gaze.

“Well, let me explain how the different styles of bikes are arranged here. We have men’s on the left and women’s on the right. Within each section there are ‘trail’ and ‘racing’ styles and here we have a new style we just got called a ‘hybrid.’”

“What’s a hybrid?” my son asked as he walked up behind the salesman with bike in tow.

As he explained the various types of bikes, I became intrigued and asked him to pull down one of the hybrids for closer inspection.

“Which one are you interested in?”

I didn’t really know, as I hadn’t owned a bike in years.

“I’m not sure, but I like this one,” I said pointing to a white and gray hybrid with pink trim.

As he lifted the bike down off the rack, my son flashed me a wide, knowing grin.

“That’s a nice bike, mom.”

Already my mind was churning with possibilities of riding the cross-country bike trail not far from our place. I did love biking and my sister had marveled so at the stress-relieving benefits of daily exercise. I hopped on the seat and put my hands on the straight-style handlebars. To me the big drawback of a bike was the seat, but this one sported a comfort gel one with a wider base and more cushioning. The bike I had in college had been a 10-speed with curved handlebars requiring the rider to lean over to ride. Being over 40, I knew comfort was more my style and liked that this bike sat upright. I preferred the solitude of trail riding and the fit of this hybrid was just right.

“We could ride them on that trail, Mom.”

My son’s salesmanship was impeccable that much was certain. He knew just what to say to persuade me to shell out the $900 for those bikes that day. The thought of us riding the trail together, doing something healthy and fun, sealed the deal. With that, we headed home with the new bat and our new wheels chatting away as we made plans to go for a spin. I hadn’t felt this excited about exercise since college and couldn’t wait to tell my sister.

A few weeks and several test drives later, the newness had worn off the bikes, but my affection for cycling was stronger than ever. Most times, we biked together but I had taken a few solo trips as well. On the way home from work after a particularly stressful day, I found myself longing to take out the bike. As I drove past the trail entrance off Alice Road, a couple of riders sat waiting to cross. I wanted to be there on my own bike soaring along thinking of nothing but the ride. Earlier when I phoned my son to see if he was up for riding after work, he mumbled something about being sick and tired. I didn’t care if I had to go alone…I needed to ride. At home, I headed inside just long enough to change into my workout gear and grab a water bottle. My son, lying on the couch with remote in hand, inquired where I was headed.

“I gotta ride my bike today. Work sucked and I gotta ride.”

“I don’t know if I’ll go.”

“That’s fine. I HAVE to go,” I said and rushed out the back door to the garden shed to retrieve my bike. I rode along the sidewalk to the machine shed to load my bike in the back of the truck. As I lifted it into the truck’s bed, my son appeared clad in shorts, bike in hand.

“I guess I’ll go too,” he said as he loaded his bike and climbed in the cab.

The late afternoon sun was warm, but not hot for that time of year. Capri-length, Lycra pants and a long sleeved shirt were perfect attire for the ride. I took off faster than usual and pushed my new bike as hard as I could, shifting gears like a pro. This bike had 21 gears and it had taken me a while to get used to feel of them all. The adrenaline rush propelled me along the trail until I could no longer see my son riding behind me. The release of pedaling as fast as my legs would take me was surreal…almost like flying. The usual strain I felt on the trail’s inclines was surprisingly absent that day. I loved the feel of the wind on my face drying the sweat from my brow.

The trees and brush along the trail provided just enough shade and wind cover to insulate riders from the elements. The path itself had once been an old railroad line and was well built up with limestone and heavy bridges that provided easy access across busy highways. The only real maintenance required was trimming the foliage that occasionally encroached into the passageway. We always entered the trail at Alice Road by parking the truck roadside, which other riders did from time to time. There was a trail entrance point with a parking lot five miles further south, but we preferred the proximity of the Alice entrance. From there, the trail stretched 14 miles to the southeast and 40 miles to the northwest. Sometimes we'd take the flatter, southern route and other times we'd take the shadier but hillier northern route. Since my son needed to be at a 6pm baseball practice that afternoon, we opted to ride south.

On the drive home with the windows down, we savored the breeze as it massaged our sweat-soaked heads. My legs ached and I was spent, but felt glorious. Our other rides were good, but that day’s ride liberated me from more than just stress; it also freed me from myself. Natural endorphins were more effective than any pill, but this ecstasy was a new encounter. Two weeks prior, I’d stopped writing to allow frustration build up in my system. This catalyst was just what I needed for the day's hard ride to expel all the negative vibrations from my body.

Over the past few weeks, I’d lost seven pounds and gained so much energy that I finally knew why my sister was so infatuated with exercise. Although I wasn’t biking to impress her, I couldn’t help longing to pass on my illuminating experience. She already knew, but would act thrilled to hear it anyway. Maybe I’d reached that Serenity ball and at least budged it a little.