Zen speed

There's a book called Zen Guitar that offers spiritual wisdom about playing but can be applied to all endeavors. A passage in this little book has always stuck with me.


Know the feeling of power held in reserve.


I wasn't playing guitar on Sunday. I was racing my bike in The Off-Road Assault on Mount Mitchell in North Carolina, but I rode to a powerful rhythm unlike my first race here two years ago. 


My time was 47 minutes better than in 2010 at 6 hours, 52 minutes, 9 seconds. I rode my bike up climbs where two years ago I walked; I went downhill faster and with more precision; I exhibited discipline to begin conservatively in order to finish aggressively; I never even entertained a thought about quitting. 


Finishing eighth out of 34 in the 50-plus age group and 105th out of 397 finishers is a result I'm proud of after initially being a little disappointed.


Looking at the results near the finish line, I felt a little like Ralphie in A Christmas Story when he gets his theme back, expecting an A-plus.


"C-plus? Oh, no. It can't be.''


Eighth place? Eighth place??


Of course, stripped down, ORAMM is about more than the results sheet. It's having the guts to tackle 63 miles and 11,000 feet of climbing without cracking. 


I did crack my frame, though. Maybe it happened on Heartbreak Ridge, a 5 1/2-mile trail also known as Dante's Inferno, where I suffered my only wreck after taking a log-over too fast. Like riding an angry bull, the bike bucked me over the horns and then gored my right forearm with its chainring when it charged me. It was quick, painless and was back in the saddle as quickly as I was thrown. I was smart enough to walk the final drop, also known as the ninth circle of hell.


Few escape ORAMM without sacrificing blood. Or equipment.


Two years ago, my personal hell was the 9-mile Curtis Creek climb. I died and somehow rose again all in the span of that never-ending gravel ascent. This time around?


Hello, beautiful.


I proportioned my effort well, suppressing the urge to begin in my big ring. Toward the end, I was feeling some tightness in my thighs but fortunately the climb was done and the rest stop was in sight. 


That might be the best damn rest stop of the whole race, which is more than halfway over at that point. It's a celebration of sorts.


Where I really celebrated, however, was coming out of Kitsuma II and hitting the asphalt for the 3-mile ride to the line. In addition to breaking seven hours, another goal was to ride Kitsuma the second time around without walking. Well, I didn't quite accomplish that -- I had to dismount for a short section of the steep climb in the middle -- but I cleaned the entire climb to the peak. Then I bombed that downhill like my hair was on fire. I completed the trail only two minutes slower (32 minutes) than in my training rides. 


As Petty and the Heartbreakers' Drivin' Down to Georgia played in my headphones when I passed the .05 mileage sign, I felt more alive than I have in a long time. To survive ORAMM is one thing. To flourish is another. 


I experienced the feeling of power held in reserve.