There is no unnatural sound...except the clink and rattle of the human-powered machine connected to the trail and the hum and crunch of rubber meeting soft soil, leaves, and the occasional fallen branch or half-exposed granite boulder. The trees whistle as they pass, bowing slightly in acknowledgement, welcoming a young spirit into their very old enclave. Birds start from their hiding, only to circle and fly back. Slightly annoyed at the interruption, they chirp their defiance. The connection that is sought is there. This...this exploration into the natural, this commune with creation...this is mountain biking.
There are days when nothing works and there are days when everything works. Lungs and legs toiling in tandem to crest the next hill. Body weight centered and adjusted for that flat-to-drop transition. No thought required as the eye sees every turn, rise, drop, rock, and root: the mind anticipates action and shifts the body and bike to adjust and meld. It's called Flow, but it's more than that. The word is too simple to describe the feeling and absence of feeling. It is Perfection. The mind sits outside of itself, hilarious and giddy, noticing every small thing, taking note of all that interests itself, full of the knowledge of Flow, and not allowing anything to interrupt. It's not enough to say that the cares that were present an hour ago slip away...it's more like they stop existing for this moment, packing up and moving out to make room for the suffusion of Perfect.
Mountain biking isn't the only way to reach this state. There is always an opportunity, when body and soul are alone with the natural world. This is a solitary thing...but it does not require solitude. It can be found in the presence of friends and like-minded humanity. In all cases, it is something to be sought...and when found, the moment cherished.
For we are human, and Perfection is fleeting.
