Meditation in Motion: The Power of Slow

Sacred /sākrəd/ adjective – regarded with great respect and reverence by a particular person or group.

As I coasted, I could still hear an odd rattle-like noise. It was 5:30 a.m., just north of Saskatchewan Crossing. The sun was up, a perfect day for cycling…except for the strange noise. I looked around and saw a black bear jogging about 25 metres behind me. When I stopped, it stopped. When I pedalled and then coasted, it would lope behind me. I dismounted and turned around. The bear took off. I took off faster.

In his beautiful poem “Stages”, Hermann Hess writes:  “In all beginnings dwells a magic force.” I agree.

I also agree with the sentiment found in this ancient proverb: “Begin the thing and ye shall have the power.”

Have you noticed that our most cherished proverbs, as well as the many helpful and healing directions from Jesus, often begin with an action verb? “Go and wash…”, “Stretch forth your hand…”, “Take up your bed…” The wisest people through the ages knew that action liberates energies, insights, strengths, and gifts. The action might take obvious forms such as bike touring in my case, or walking along a pilgrim’s path, or climbing a mountain. It can also refer to a spiritual movement along some personal plane – from the person you are toward the person you want to be. The sacredness in the journey is planted in your first step toward the unknown.  It matures at a tipping point between you defining the travel and the action of travel ultimately defining you.

Charlie Grove

In 1996 I began to put into action the how, when and where of doing a cycle tour. Twenty years later, these annual trips continue, and help to define who I am. For me, a bike tour involves leaving my front door for one to two months with all the repair gear, food, clothing and curiosity I will need. My physical trip as seen on a map is circular – and the psychological transformation I undergo on these trips is circular in nature as well. I return home the same person, but with an altered perspective on how I want to live the upcoming year. Canada’s first people valued and used the circle as a symbol to explain ideas and challenges as if they are physical objects. At the most basic level, my bike tours are all about circle shapes – the wheels; the chain; the gears. I fine-tune my brakes and handlebars, but equally important is the fine-tuning of me as a person.

A bike tour frequently takes me over British Columbia’s interior plateau, through the Rocky Mountains, into the flatlands of southern Alberta and through the rugged terrain of the Kootenay region. This takes me through profoundly peaceful and beautiful environments along rivers, through valleys and over mountain passes. My slow speed allows me to remember much of what I see and experience. As I explore an area on the map, I am also exploring my own physicality and spirituality. I can anticipate some problems and dangers, but I’m also happy to rely on the goodness, generosity and humour of people who were previously strangers. I allow myself to be “confidently vulnerable”.

I remember cycling for miles in a rainstorm in Montana, and three farmers at three different junctures came out to ask if I’d like to stay overnight. I declined three times. When I arrived in Cardston, Alberta, the information centre’s manager said that she was about to lock the doors but I was welcome to sleep inside the front entrance. Another tour had me cycling up to Bragg Creek from Crowsnest Pass. A hailstorm that usually passes over quickly continued for hours. An RCMP officer stopped and asked if she could give me a lift. I declined. An hour later she came back and found me standing under a very small, ineffectual tree and helped me load my bike into the van for a dry ride to the village of Black Diamond. Five years ago, cycling through Cranbrook, B.C. under thunder and lightening, an elderly couple who I met at the tourist office asked if I had a place to stay for the night, and if not would I like to stay at their home. I have stayed with Mary and Jack every year since. I do some yard work, chop wood, and pick fruit for them in exchange for a dry bed and their friendship.

I have picked garlic for farmers, pruned fruit trees, and worked in youth hostels in the mountains in exchange for a night out of inclement weather. People’s generous responses to me and my bike show me that it is best to treat every stranger kindly, as suggested in the Bible, lest they be an angel in disguise.

I actually don’t mind cycling in the rain. I get through it by knowing that somewhere there is a cyclist coasting down a hill under sunshine who needs the sun more than I do. For me, a strong wind is the toughest element to deal with, mentally and physically. But I have found that in the midst of all these encounters – with weather, with animals and with people – my mental or physical state are gifts that allow me to examine my response under pressures and joys. Not knowing what is around the next bend in the road makes the learning experience more intense. Reflection guides me to alter my behaviours or strengthen my resolve, and on a solo bike tour, one has the luxury of time for reflection. That combination – experience plus reflection – is my best teacher.  

One of my most sought after experiences is cycling through the night in the Rockies under a clear sky, with a full moon guiding the way. If I know there will be a full moon I’ll stop and sleep in the afternoon and get back on my bike in the evening, around that hour between the dogs and the wolves. There will only be the hum of my tires on the asphalt, the sounds of animals communicating in the trees, and the silvery silence. It’s an experience that makes it obvious that this planet’s beauty and mystery has been created, crafted and cared for by a very loving force.

I have found a number of what I would call “sacred sleeping spots” on my travels. These are locations I return to again and again – such as the little point of land on the Upper Arrow Lake north of Nakusp…or the rocky ledge overlooking Kootenay Lake just north of Crawford Bay…or the vacant beautiful old barn along the Kettle River south of Beaverdell. Otherwise, I “stealth camp”. That is, I head off the road into the forest and sleep in my one-person tent – being careful not to eat anything until I return to the road next morning.

I have also grown very fond of cemeteries for a peaceful night’s rest. I usually pick a spot just inside the fenced perimeter. In the morning, I like to take a stroll, carefully setting up overturned vases of flowers, picking weeds and reading the information on the gravestones. It’s fascinating to discover glimpses of local history, such as descriptions of unique personalities, long standing family names, or maybe a disease outbreak that took the lives of a number of infants in a certain year. I relish these stops, as they provide me with the opportunity to consider my own mortality…a practice that tends to have a very positive influence on my everyday actions and deeds.

My first few bike tours were motivated by the knowledge that they would be a fun way to connect with family and friends along the way, and would surely be good for my health. There was also the persuasive call of freedom, and the chance to connect with nature. Of course I also learned quickly how to change tires and spokes, and the best places not to put up a tent. However, these solo journeys have also become extended times of profound gratitude.

I try to cycle every kilometer deeply aware of my surroundings, instead of focusing on a destination. This has brought a sacredness to my bike touring. Slow cycling lets me stop to read history signs; write in my journal; talk to fellow cyclists; pick a flower to stick in my helmet; or do a private little happy dance because I made it over a high mountain pass. Somehow, my creativity and imagination are unleashed, and my goals, gifts and challenges are brought into clearer focus.  

Meditation while in motion also allows me to develop my own personal truths and live them out more clearly. On this past summer’s bike tour, I was introduced to the Buddhist belief that the most basic act of kindness is to cease doing unkind things and thinking unkind thoughts. A circle of understanding seemed to be completed for me, simply because I met the right teacher (an elderly shop owner in Kaslo) and because cycling puts me in a contemplative mood, gifting me with the silence I need to meditate on what I am learning.  

The more tours of self-discovery I undertake, the greater the chance I have of expressing my true self at home with the people I love and treasure.  Many memorable miles have also taught me that generosity supports all acts of kindness in this life, and that the world is not as dangerous as some people would have us believe.

I plan to continue my contemplative cycling tours – in Canada, as well as in France where our son now lives. They serve not as an escape from life, but as a way to ensure that life does not escape me.

Photos courtesy of Charlie Grove.