T-714: What Kind of Comfort?

I spent a few hours last night looking at various kinds of bike trailers.    When we first started touring, such devices did not exist.  However, they have become ever more popular and we are actively considering using trailers on the next trip.

When Chazz was old and could no longer run alongside the bike, we bought a baby bike trailer.  We would try to get him to sit in the trailer so he could still go with us.  He absolutely hated it.  It was an insult to his dignity and he would try to jump out whenever he could.  As arhritic as he was, sitting in a stupid baby trailer, looking out the plastic windows, was more uncomfortable.

However, we found we could tote a whole bunch of produce from the market, without making the bike top-heavy.  It would end up at home without being smashed.  Once the bike began rolling, the trailer added very little drag.  Paniers alter the geometry of the bike and change its center of gravity.  Their best advantage, however, is that they force the rider to choose only the essentials. 

But we would always have all sorts of junk hanging off the paniers...today's drying socks and dishcloths, an easy to reach windbreaker, the most recent groceries.  When we got to camp, the paniers were removed so they could be rooted through.  Packing up became a daily ritual after breakfast.  It had to be done right, with the heavy items below and thoughtful placement of liquid, easy access, and degree of grunge.  (You really don't want your sweaty, stinky clothes next to your food or clean clothes)

One thing is certain, long distance bike touring does not qualify as cushy.  There are a lot of days where you
just aren't as clean as you would like to be.  Sleeping on the ground day after day can give you what we call "hip pointers"...the sore spots that develop from placing your weight on hard surfaces.  You better pray that you don't get a heat rash, or jock itch, or saddle sores.  Riding a bike when every motion sends a searing bite through through your tender parts makes a long, long day.
The days of ecstasy are few and far between.  Many days are a pleasan

The smell of the wild roses
and salt sea was intoxicating

t sort of drudgery, neither exciting nor painful...making miles to the next stop, next camp, next meal.  Some days are hellish.  Pushing your loaded bike up a 8% grade from 4000 to 8000 feet in elevation in the searing heat is not fun.  It is just plain hard work.  Finding a decent camp in the pouring rain, then barely sleeping because a brush of the tent side will bring water pou
ring in, makes for both a miserable night and a miserable next day.  There are times when the mosquitos are so thick, you can't help but breathe them.

But there are moments of pure transcendence, when the bike, and the land, and your body, and all that is merge into a blessed wholeness.  Biking becomes a pure joy that is animal, spiritual, and intellectual.  These moments are unforgettable.  I remember cycling the southwest coast of Nova Scotia, following the nearly abandoned sea line highway.  The sea roses were in full bloom and stretched for miles and miles. 

The sweet smell mixed with the tang of sea air.  The sky was blue, and there was a slight tail wind. Up and down the hills, roaring through dips and valleys of the sea road, a song zinging through my brain as I loved the way my body felt on the bike.  I could not have been happier.



On the Going to th e Sun Road,
 we were glad to be going up instead of down.

 Another Zen experience like this happened just after we had finished climbing the Going to Sun Road in Glacier National Park.  Going to the Sun is unnerving experience.  A narrow two lane road switchbacks over the spine of the Rockies.  There is no shoulder and there is sheer cliff going up on one side, sheer cliff falling down on the other.  The Park Service only allows bikers on this road a few hours a day.  You have to get up well before dawn to begin this climb.  There is not stopping on this rugged trek, because cars and even worse trucks and RV's, begin over the pass at 8am.

We had just made the top and could feel the anxiety start to slip away.  We were greeted by the sight of alpine lakes.  Soon I was surging along this top country, all systems on go.  Before long, I left Wes in my dust, as I bob and weave my way through that stunning scene.

Now, I am sitting on a plump leather couch.  I see wonderful art on the wall.  But my body is always kind of uncomfortable and I am self concious about the belly pooch that is holding up this computer.  I long for the wholeness of grace within my body.  Early on I learned to be in my brain and silence my body until at long last, it screams at me in its hunger or stress.

I want the comfort of feeling fully alive, of joy in the moment, of feeling strong and skillful, swathed in beauty.  That's the kind of comfort almost nonexistant in the life I am leading now.    I must remind myself that comfort is not necessarily a function of ease.  Comfort is the result of wholeness.