A Trued Bicyclist

My muses are in perpetual momentum, so I write and ride. The one thing in life that has had my focus consistently is my fleet of bikes. Maybe some of the bikes have come and gone, but I’ve always had a bike to roll with. I’m always on my bike and I’m always writing and reading. Yes, I am always reading the roads, the trails, the weather, cars, animals, other riders, depending on what bike I’m on and where I’m biking. All riders do this (hopefully). We sense to get our bearings so we’re on point in the flow of our ride.

But, I am always reading and writing, both off and on the bike, in these two ways as well. When I think to myself or speak to others, I visualize in my mind every letter in the words and sentences. And when others are speaking to me or I’m listening to a podcast or watching a movie, I visualize in my mind every letter in the words and sentences that are spoken. That’s my neurological wiring. I am a perpetual typewriter in perpetual momentum as a reader, writer and rider.

That’s a lot of brain capacity, and I always wonder if it’s either a focus mechanism or a distraction for me, especially on the bicycle. I’m zipping down a trail and I’m seeing “Here comes your favorite berm!” flash before the screen of my mind, an overlay ON the real-time image of the berm as I fly through it. It’s like an advertisement. I splash-flash words all over my visual territory, and on the bike, it feels like I’m writing a novel about my ride. To me, this makes me a trued bicyclist - one who is in the moment of the rider-writer phenomenon.

Trued. To be at the center of one’s truth. To true a bicycle wheel so it’s straight and can function as it’s truthfully meant to. What else does it mean to you?

For me, I feel trued in both superheroine-goddess-galore moments and dynamically-disheveled-down-in-the-dumps diva moments. And I know this - I am both always trued and perpetually truing, and that is both a good knowing and a good feeling. I am trued right now in exactly the ways I need to be, and I can say the same thing a second from now, a month from now, a year from now and so on. And in reverse time too. We are always trued, even in the dynamically disheveled moments. Are your eyebrows skyrocketing off your forehead right now, like what? Yes. Think about it. Those unseeming trued moments are the realms of alignment we are meant to embrace and endure right at that time in our lives. No matter the turmoil or discomfort those moments can bring, if you choose to believe that every moment is an offering of “truth”, then your inner Yoda is “truly” free to be. The bicycle has taught me this. The bicycle has shown me that perception freezes or flows the pedal strokes of my conscience and heart. I choose to believe that my perfectly imperfect self is always trued. Then I’m always rolling forward. Unless you’re a BMX or trials rider who spends half their time going backwards, the design of a bicycle’s engineering tends to magnetize you forward. It carves and trues the path ahead for you, so you might as well follow along. The bicycle knows truth. I am grateful I’ve always had handlebars to grip when I needed to get a grip, and a saddle to sit upon and wheels in momentum beneath me when I needed to de-grip and go with the flow. No matter what my trued self looks like in a given moment, I am in perpetual truth. And so are you if you choose to perceive it that way.

Here are a few stream of consciousness snippets about a trued bicyclist, to be elaborated in later posts.

I remember when I was sixteen years old, my dad told me to put my Shogun bicycle away in the garage after I rode it. My teenage consciousness equated to me not listening. Oh, what a concept! Sure enough, I left the bike parked in the driveway one day and the next morning it was gone. Should’ve listened to my father. Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve. I wonder where that bicycle is today. Stashed behind someone’s shed, a rusty relic enshrouded in tall grasses and that chipmunk lineage has fostered as its cozy abode? As bikes have come and gone in my life, I often wonder where they are. I don’t have regrets in life, but I feel a twinge of regret having in those moments convinced myself that logically it made sense to sell or give away (or had stolen!) the bike at the time. Now I question that it wasn’t impulsive. No, it wasn’t that. It was plain stupidity. Every single bike I’ve had was a symbol of the intersections and decisions and naivete at that time in my life, a rolling diary that captured my every thought shared both in conscience and orally, even the attempts at “sing while you bike” melodies on many descents. To sing on the ascent could mean suffocation, so that’s not recommended. But alas, the bicycles that are no longer with me physically most certainly are in spirit.

As I’m driving to Arizona I have my mountain bike on the rear rack and my road bike laying on its side in the back of the car. I’ve always personified things that are important to me. To me, my bikes are my loved ones. I speak to my bikes. I kiss their saddles with gratitude after each ride. And sometimes when I’m simply walking by them. Kind of like a “Just because you’re sitting idle at the moment doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate you ALL THE TIME.” With the bikes in the car and on the rear rack, I feel comfort knowing they are adorning my road trip. I call it a solo goddess trip, but really, it’s a collective goddess journey. Sassy saddles in tow. I don’t go many places without a bicycle. Or two or more. Why would I?

I am my best when I am on a bike. This translates to me being my best for the world when I’m off the bike.

Some people ask me why I ride so much. Is it for fitness and health? Am I running (biking in this case) from something? Is it my form of addiction that brings me ease? I don’t do drugs. I don’t drink. Ever for either. Maybe that makes me boring! But for all the reasons above, and probably more that I’m not aware of, and don’t need to know, I ride my bike.

Most times I don’t want to know the names of mountain ranges, bike trails or road names, I just want to be on earth in the energy of the experience and not in the micro-management of categorizing. I know this is why I don’t remember road signs from childhood family vacations like my brother, because my nature was simply to feel the energy of the moment versus being distracted by man-made labels.

I ascend to blend and descend to fend for more adventure, there’s never an end.

I don’t put time goals on my ride goals so I can be one with the flow in all ways. The Universe keeps time, but I don’t.

My morning yoga practice always informs me as to whether I’ve had enough exposure to nature in a given 24 hours, and if I am balanced. If I’m not, I feel achy. I call it “Get-The-Kinks-Out Yoga.” Once the kinks are out, I ride my bike.

At the tail end of 49 years old, I’d had it with the pre menopausal hot flashes. So I chopped the long wavy locks of my hair and then my hot flashes went away. I wanted my hair back. But perhaps it was a sign of a fresh start being in Colorado, exploring new terrain. My new locks are growing in unison with exploring new sites in the wilderness, the curls dangling and tangling, like the curvy Rocky Mountain ascents and descents.

A trued bicyclist I am in full awareness and acceptance about who I am. Ponder your own trued self. What is your perpetual truth? Maybe it’s hidden under a rock you just biked over or around. Turn around and overturn that rock and let your truth breath. If your truth happens to be perched upon a rock you ride on or around, smile and keep riding. It’ll bask in the sun, warming and truing itself just like you.

Thanks for reading, and for considering a clicked heart, comment, Pledge and Tip if you so choose. See more of my writing and info about me here: Jessica Amber Barnum