Bike-Skiing

Some people find freedom through meditation, others through medication. One person defines it as a day spent skiing, another person as a day spent reading.

As of yesterday, I’m gonna say that perfect freedom comes from riding a brand-new bicycle across Myanmar hills on a cloudless January day.

It was meditative on the flats, then better than drugs when we came to the hills. I was in a groove, like you can get while you’re on the ski slopes, or in the midst of a great novel.

My mountain bike was a Christmas present to myself. It’s fast becoming a trusted friend, as we get to know each other’s strengths and weaknesses.

The highlights of the ride built slowly. A group of us turned off the pavement and onto a single track, about an hour outside Yangon. Our beginning pace was pretty tame—one woman struggled on the hills. I had ridden this loop before, so I hung back to offer some moral support.

Cycling unhurriedly through shady orchards and along grassy ridges was an antidote to a week spent in the city. The sun obliged, never baking nor blinding us. Sometimes we got down off our trusty steeds to avoid crashing on the tricky bits.

Finally we reached a spot near the end where everybody usually stops for a rest. The struggler by then was pretty through with the whole biking concept. She kept smiling for her husband, but you could tell she wished she was home with a book.

Somebody suggested that a few of us might want to go back over the rugged section rather than finish the circuit along the paved road. I volunteered before you could say “mountain bike heaven.” Soon I was at the front of the pack, bouncing through moguls and spinning around blind corners.

It was like driving the family car for the first time as a 16-year-old. I became the poster child for that old bicycling maxim, “If everything is under control, you’re obviously not going fast enough.” You couldn’t wipe the wild grin off my face.

Somehow I never made a wrong turn, even though the trail didn’t always look familiar in reverse. Everything is colored brown at this time of year in central Myanmar. The country hasn’t seen rain for several weeks. Dust clouds kicked up behind me like snow sprays.

I swear the new bike has turbochargers. The others who chose to retrace never drew near. They looked at me like, “How did you know which way to go?” I just knew. Impossible to lose my way. Nothin’ left to lose.