Bicycle Buddha

Dear little girl with the wild red hair and mad eyes. Buck up kiddo. Here is the life you will lead when you are 50.

You will live in a sunny apartment in the coolest neighbourhood in the most beautiful city on earth. Your best buddy will live on the other side of your closet wall. You will live in the high desert in a community of wise monks. You will live alone in a cabin deep in the rainforest.

You will swim naked in the Pacific Ocean. You will ride a fine silver bike. Sometimes you will dance all night and other times you will rise before dawn and nap all afternoon. You will do work that is fun to do—in fact, you will make art, for good people. You will have countless funny friends, some of whom are old people and some of whom are children. (more…)

The pomegranate is the sexiest fruit in the world. Every seed bursting, sweet tart and blood red. Splitting one heavy red fruit was a seasonal ritual I shared with my dad. He taught me the trick to eat the pomegranate: you take a fat wedge and break it in two, exposing the gleaming surface of rubies. Then, positioned over a bowl or right above the sink, you dive in face-first and slurp, taking fat full mouthfulls, (more…)

I remember Tammy Fudge.

That really was her name. As if that wasn’t enough, Tammy was gangly and awkward and kind of funny looking. She had no friends. If you sat beside her you wouldn’t have any friends either. You knew that in that dangerous and delicately balanced pre-adolescent universe, to befriend Tammy Fudge would have constituted social suicide.

A boy put gum in Tammy’s hair and the teacher had to tease it out with an ice cube. I was haunted by the quiet shame in her face as the teacher worked through tammy’s hair with the ice cube and the comb. (more…)

There are two things you should know about riding a bike: it should be easy, and it should not cause you pain.

This is what I say to customers in the shop when they are hesitant about buying a new bike. They look at me skeptically, expecting that, like dental work or pilates camp, riding a bike will be painful and difficult and expensive. But they are prepared to shell out because they are convinced that it will be good for them. They say, “well, but I’m not really serious about cycling. I don’t intend to ride it very much”. I say: cycling isn’t supposed to be serious. Let’s find you a bike that will be comfortable. A bike that will be easy to ride uphill and fast to ride downhill. A bike that fits you and makes you feel good. When you find that bike you just might really want to ride it more than you think. When you look at that bike your heart will swell with love. You might even want to ride it all the time. (more…)

Somewhere between Fort Rodd Hill and the Tsawous rez where I camped for the night, my little black notebook disappeared. All my notes from the past year at Upaya and beyond, my lists, contacts, ideas, drawings, quotes, maps, jokes. The archive of my experience, the fresh tracks of my mind. The one item most precious to me: fallen away. Taken by the road. (more…)

Spine extended, shoulders back, chin slightly tucked. Elbows out and relaxed, like holding an egg gently in each armpit. Trying, but not trying too hard. Going for the sweet spot between effort and ease. On the uphill watching breath, on the downhill, watching breath.

In the rhythm of the ride mind spins off into cadence not remembering, not planning, not thinking. Dapple sunlight whirring wheels.

On this rolling retreat we journey, each alone, yet together. Forging intimacy in the synchrony of movement and purpose. In moments of hill and heat, of flat tires and fatigue, in the violence of engines, in the blessing of the breeze, the sangha holds my handlebars steady. Supporting practice. Generating joy.

<<To the ten intrepid riders of the first Bicycle Buddha Adventure Tour, July 30 – Aug 5, thank you for seven days and some 400km – you ROCK my world and you ROLL my soul!>>

Photos from the Epic Journey are here.

If i was three years old i would laugh at the sound of laughter. I would ask for milk and have it handed to me in a spill-proof cup. I would discover the alphabet in a clothbound book. I would run full tilt, trip, fall flat out, cry, be comforted, get up, run and fall again. Such wonder.

If I was ten years old i would go to summer camp, meet soul sisters, share secrets. I would watch my mermaid shadow on the sandy lake bottom. (more…)

My 40th Interdependence Day birthday bash featured a pedal-powered sound system, firespinners and dj’s and bicycles with flaming wheels.  I’ve celebrated on Mt. Elfinstone and in Horsefly and on a glacier. Last year i convened a spontaneous garden party. I might yet throw something together, and if I do, it will be fun. But i’ve been busy, so maybe it will happen and maybe not.

I’m not feeling especially melancholy, but the day is always a bittersweet reminder of mortality. When you are on your own, it is especially poignant. (more…)