Life In The Loops - A Trail Between The Trees

The sky was in distress that early morning, unravelling in every imaginable shade of grey as I drove myself steadily deeper into the whirlwinds of losing time. My tires were humming against the highway’s glistening pavement and the rest of the world had become a super-saturated blur while my head was bobbing steadily to the beat.

I didn’t know what day it was – just that it was June. And I only knew it was June because the world was glowing green and I was struggling to keep track of myself as I carried on rushing through the remainder of the spring season.

I stepped from my truck and straight to my pedals as if there were no readying moments in between my vehicle and the trail. I took note of the still-growing puddles when the road turned from pavement to gravel and I accepted it would be a cold, damp ride as I began my painful ascent toward the soggy emerald forest. I began pedalling fast, and continued on with great haste. I was running away from everything and I didn’t have a moment to spare.


By the time the dirt road had reached the trail I had pushed through the shallow breath of warming up. My lungs were wide open but my head was still ringing. I wondered why my desire to ride alone had suddenly materialized and whether or not it would ever go away. Perhaps it would only grow worse each season until the day that I became the grey haired geezer seen sometimes pedalling silently around the lakeside drive. The one with his head pointed down as he leaned from side to side and ignored anyone who passed him by. But that didn’t really seem so likely.


Wandering onward, I contemplated the purpose of that pedal. When I ride solo I rarely stop to rest. I charge until I reach the pain cave, continue on until I can’t anymore, and then for a few minutes further. I realized that I’d been growing fond of suffering and the elation that is realized in the dying moments of recovery. I had begun to crave the timelessness that can be delivered with the pains of climbing. I thought it felt strange to feel that addiction growing, and I pedalled on still swiftly.


I began to feel my knees burn and I looked up to a row of dead pine trees lining the left of the trail. There weren’t many of those red, dead, alienated creatures towering over the trails in that forest, but there was a special one whose branches formed a “Y” near the top. Late one evening earlier in the season, moments before the sky was enveloped in absolute darkness; I spotted a great horned owl standing in the bridge of the “Y.” I could have easily mistaken him for a shadow if it weren’t for his little white beard and lemon stare. I won’t soon forget the way my fascination grew each time he called, but each time I pass that tree without spotting him again it seems more possible that I only imagined the short few moments I stood transfixed in his piercing gaze.


As I scanned the tops of trees I acknowledged that I would not see the owl that day. I also noticed that very few raindrops remained falling from the concrete sky, but as the trail climbed on steeper I could feel the aftermath of the storm in every slippery pedal stroke and in every stinging breath. I stood up to sprint through the vertical swamp and struggled with my search for traction.


I could have stepped off and walked at that point. My lungs were on fire and I was choking on my heartbeat. There was nobody there for me to prove myself to and I’d become doubtful that I’d accomplish anything with that ride. But despite my aching fingers and frozen little toes, it didn’t feel like the day to allow the forest the satisfaction of witnessing me give in to my woes. The top of the trail was a hell of lot nearer than it was far, so I hammered on upward and allowed the suffering to swallow me whole.


I tore myself apart in the heated dash to the top of the trail. I cursed myself for any of the times I’ve behaved cowardly and I snarled at myself for never getting things done quickly enough. I thought about how much I hated myself for forgetting little details and for never getting anything done, for wasting too much time, and for not being better at simply being me. I carried on for a while, preying on my own insecurities and shortcomings and using them as the fuel for my aching advance toward my destination.


And then suddenly everything stopped. As I lay there flat on my back, smiling through my struggling breath, I’d achieved catharsis. My existence felt elevated to a new art form in which no clocks can whir and chime. Time was no longer a component in the world and all that was real to me was another trail through the trees that would guide me gracefully back to where the mission had began. I knew that in the grand scheme of eternity the existence of that brilliance would be short lived, so I planned to celebrate it with every turn of the coming descent.


I surfed from side to side across the waves of mud that crashed beneath the glowing green canopy of the forest that morning. I felt small as I curled around mossy tree trunks and dived deeper into the jade sea. I planted my foot and slapped into the most slippery turns, I nose tapped a stump and aired berm to berm. I heard blankets of loam lay over top the bushes behind me and ravens calling each other through a thin fog waltzing slowly along the forest floor. Speckles of mud flung from my tires and I lost sight of the trail but never forgot the way it rolls and winds.


Chimney smoke from lakeside cabins billowed through the trees as I railed a final few mud ruts and slid sideways out of the forest. I scanned the abrasions between the damp hairs of my forearms - itchy yet endearing red markings that insisted I had tackled the very edges of the trails that morning.

I looked all around and finally felt at ease amongst the vibrancy of the glowing scene. Whatever took place in the forest that morning remains undefined, but I’ll forever be certain that it was more than just a trail between the trees and I was more than just a boy on his bicycle. The adventure I had embarked on that morning was not a cowardly retreat, it was a triumphant advance. I wasn’t really running away from anything, I was taking a gigantic leap forward.


My bicycle had made me better, just as it does each time I ride it. It made me worry less and love more. I smiled and thought about how lucky I was to have discovered such a machine that can add minutes to my days and moments to those minutes. I stuffed the last of my soaking wet gear into my bag, changed into dry clothes and started on my way home as a better me than I’d ever been before.


To keep up with Dylan between issues of Life In The Loops, check him out on Twitter and the Kona Cog.
Banner images by Blake Jorgenson