Broken foot/ankle, while dirt jumping.
Bummed.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Monday, November 30, 2009
The sun also rises...
I had the good fortune to find a window in the Fall weather to do a project I have been wanting to do for a while. I wanted to ride out and catch the sunrise on top of "Baldy", which is the summit of the ridgline trail in the South Hills in Eugene, and than capture the sun setting over the West wetlands. "Baldy" is pretty much the SE corner of Euegene, and the Wetlands the NW corner. The way it worked out is the weather gave us an awseome sunset the night before an amazing sun rise:
""The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he arose.""
I woke really early at 3 AM, too early, as I have been anxious to capture the sun rise in the 'perfect' light the universe provides. Went back to bad, ended up working for about an hour. I made a 3 egg scramble with fresh red peppers, olives, mushrooms ,onions, and left over thanksgiving turkey.
I rode from my house near the wetlands. It took an hour and a half to summit 'baldy' from my house. I was going as fast as I could, because I thought I had left in plenty of time, 6:15 AM, but as I rode West, I kept thinking I was going to miss it...the sun was creeping over the South hills faster than I had thought it would.
My legs were burning pretty good as I reached the climb up Dillard rode. I had been riding a lot this week, I probably logged about a hundred and 50 + miles between my road bike and my wife's cross-country bike. As I climbed, I was tired, and I clearly had not gotten enough sleep the night before. I had done a lot of training during the week. I'm not sure if training is the right word as I'm not actually working towards an “event”, so much as I just ride my bike as much as possible.
I am recovering from a broken wrist which I managed to break “severely”. I use the word ‘severely’ unsparingly because my doctor who did the surgery made sure to tell me that I had a “severe injury” every time I saw him. I would ask, “Can I ride my bike yet?” He would look at me juxtaposed and say that, “you have a VERY severe injury”. “But, I rode my bike here today”, I would exclaim in defiance and laugh.
He didn’t laugh with me though.
Since I broke my wrist I have been thinking about not dirt jumping as much as I used to, or at the level I was, anyway. It's not just the fact that I got injured, it's the fact that for me dirt jumping isn't a matter of if you will get hurt, as much as when you will get hurt. Forgive the over sentimental analogy of the sun set, but I kind of feel like the sun has set on that part of my life.
The most awesome thing is that it was a chapter that has been replaced with what got me into riding bikes in the first place, and that is just to be on a bike and exercising. The feeling of the cold or the warm or the hot air in my face. The notion of freedom and flying. The chance for stillness and calmness and meditation.
I love rode rides, where I don’t see , hear, or have any knowledge of anything else in the universe except for my own consciousness, the trees, the sky, the sun, etc. I want to do that every day. I want to be in touch with the real reason I ride a bike, and that is that it's my form of meditation. It's how I stay centered, it's how I get in touch with the stillness within me, so that I may share that true nature of “myself” with others.
It is a conundrum for me, as I do love to dirt jump. Making it through a rhythm section is such an amazing feeling, especially when you've labored over the jumps. When you've watered, dug, wheelbarrowed, swept, raked, packed, sculpted, and then rode.
Maybe, I feel like not everything has to be all or nothing. There can be a balance I suppose. There is that whole part of our existence that exists between the rise and the set, and that part is where we play out our true nature. It seems we measure our lives so much by when they began and when they may end. We measure each other by these time periods, as well, when we should be celebrating the present moment together.
We so often forget about the here and now. When I watch the sun set or watch the sunrise I am forced into it. Into the present moment. Into the stillness. Into the now. Into the notion that this moment, this ‘now’ exists regardless of my perception of it.
Had I not ridden to the top of the summit of the Ridgeline Trail and captured the sunrise with my camera, would that moment not have existed? The stillness and absolute silence that I have found on the Hardesty trail in the summer near Goodman Creek on Highway 58 exists regardless of my presence to it.
It's happening right now. When my life is loud and tumultuous, it is only the thoughts I entertain causing that energy. There is a silent calm presence that I can invite myself to regardless of physically being there at all times. There is always a perfect sunset. There is always an absolutely perfect light above the clouds.
I need only move my awareness to where that moment is and just be.
"One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh; but the earth abideth forever"
I woke really early at 3 AM, too early, as I have been anxious to capture the sun rise in the 'perfect' light the universe provides. Went back to bad, ended up working for about an hour. I made a 3 egg scramble with fresh red peppers, olives, mushrooms ,onions, and left over thanksgiving turkey.
I rode from my house near the wetlands. It took an hour and a half to summit 'baldy' from my house. I was going as fast as I could, because I thought I had left in plenty of time, 6:15 AM, but as I rode West, I kept thinking I was going to miss it...the sun was creeping over the South hills faster than I had thought it would.
My legs were burning pretty good as I reached the climb up Dillard rode. I had been riding a lot this week, I probably logged about a hundred and 50 + miles between my road bike and my wife's cross-country bike. As I climbed, I was tired, and I clearly had not gotten enough sleep the night before. I had done a lot of training during the week. I'm not sure if training is the right word as I'm not actually working towards an “event”, so much as I just ride my bike as much as possible.
I am recovering from a broken wrist which I managed to break “severely”. I use the word ‘severely’ unsparingly because my doctor who did the surgery made sure to tell me that I had a “severe injury” every time I saw him. I would ask, “Can I ride my bike yet?” He would look at me juxtaposed and say that, “you have a VERY severe injury”. “But, I rode my bike here today”, I would exclaim in defiance and laugh.
He didn’t laugh with me though.
Since I broke my wrist I have been thinking about not dirt jumping as much as I used to, or at the level I was, anyway. It's not just the fact that I got injured, it's the fact that for me dirt jumping isn't a matter of if you will get hurt, as much as when you will get hurt. Forgive the over sentimental analogy of the sun set, but I kind of feel like the sun has set on that part of my life.
The most awesome thing is that it was a chapter that has been replaced with what got me into riding bikes in the first place, and that is just to be on a bike and exercising. The feeling of the cold or the warm or the hot air in my face. The notion of freedom and flying. The chance for stillness and calmness and meditation.
I love rode rides, where I don’t see , hear, or have any knowledge of anything else in the universe except for my own consciousness, the trees, the sky, the sun, etc. I want to do that every day. I want to be in touch with the real reason I ride a bike, and that is that it's my form of meditation. It's how I stay centered, it's how I get in touch with the stillness within me, so that I may share that true nature of “myself” with others.
It is a conundrum for me, as I do love to dirt jump. Making it through a rhythm section is such an amazing feeling, especially when you've labored over the jumps. When you've watered, dug, wheelbarrowed, swept, raked, packed, sculpted, and then rode.
Maybe, I feel like not everything has to be all or nothing. There can be a balance I suppose. There is that whole part of our existence that exists between the rise and the set, and that part is where we play out our true nature. It seems we measure our lives so much by when they began and when they may end. We measure each other by these time periods, as well, when we should be celebrating the present moment together.
We so often forget about the here and now. When I watch the sun set or watch the sunrise I am forced into it. Into the present moment. Into the stillness. Into the now. Into the notion that this moment, this ‘now’ exists regardless of my perception of it.
Had I not ridden to the top of the summit of the Ridgeline Trail and captured the sunrise with my camera, would that moment not have existed? The stillness and absolute silence that I have found on the Hardesty trail in the summer near Goodman Creek on Highway 58 exists regardless of my presence to it.
It's happening right now. When my life is loud and tumultuous, it is only the thoughts I entertain causing that energy. There is a silent calm presence that I can invite myself to regardless of physically being there at all times. There is always a perfect sunset. There is always an absolutely perfect light above the clouds.
I need only move my awareness to where that moment is and just be.
"One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh; but the earth abideth forever"
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