The ups and downs of impermanence

I am sitting at a public library in Nashville, Indiana.  This week I am on a bicycling trip that involves about two hundred cyclists, camping and riding the hilly roads between some of Indiana's nicest state parks.  It's a great group of people and the camraderie is one of the best parts of the trip.

I am also fining a number of zen lessons while on this trip.  We rise and go to bed with the sun.  It's amazing how naturally a person can slip into that rhythm.  It feels good to be on nature's schedule.

It's also interesting how, when dealing with day-long physical exertion that hydration and nutrition becomes urgent.  I realize that I often take for granted the availability of food and water when all I have to do is stop my car at a gas station, shell out a few bucks, and merrily slurp and crunch along my way.

Hills are a lesson in impermanence.  This week, the weather is in the 90s and there is a chance of thunderstorms each day.  We are riding in the hilliest parts of Indiana.  If you think of Indiana as one of those flat mid-western states, you've not spent much time south of Bloomington.  There are some significan hills here.  However, as I sweat and gasp for air while I will one foot in front of the other, I realize that the agony of the climb will soon be replaced by the air whipping through the grooves in my helmet and, if I'm fortunate, I will get to spend a few effortless moments pedaling along a bubbling creek.  However, I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the challenge that it takes approximately a bazillion times longer to climb a hill than it does to whip down the other side into a valley.

I hope to check in again from my trip later this week.  Until then, keep breathing.