July/August 2011 Spirituality
The Bicycle as a Vehicle for Transformation
by Philip Shepherd
At the age of 18, like most of us at that age, I stood on the threshold of possibility. In my case, that threshold opened onto a clear fork in the road. One path led to a prestigious university, where I’d been accepted to study physics. The other road led into the great unknown on the seat of a bicycle.
That second path needs a little explaining — and the explanation actually involves an ancient form of classical Japanese theater called Noh. I had studied its writings, and seen a touring company perform it, and it was simply the most radical art form I’d ever encountered: exquisitely moving, scorchingly human and, to my Western sensibilities, utterly baffling. At the time, understanding Noh seemed like a greater challenge than understanding physics.
Philip Shepherd
As a teenager, though, I didn’t have any money to speak of, so just flying to Japan to study Noh wasn’t an option. On the other hand, it seemed not unreasonable (I was 18, remember) that if I went to England and bought a bicycle, and started pedaling, and kept heading in the right direction, and didn’t stop pedaling, and caught a few ferries where necessary, that I would eventually arrive. And so off into the great unknown I headed, poised on my bicycle seat.
As it turned out, the trip not only got me to Japan, it set the course for the rest of my life. Cycling through Europe, the Middle East, Iran, India and Japan, I deepened into my self and into the world. I spent weeks at a time outside, cycling by day and bedding down under the stars (and occasionally the rain clouds) by night.
Sustained by the whispered rhythms of wind and sun, sky and stone, trees and grasses, I was nourished by the world, and nourished by the revelations of each mile. I moved through each day with a certain ease — despite the long hours of pedaling, and the uncertainty that every bend in the road presented. Or possibly because of them.
See the World from Your Bike
The Pacific Northwest is a bike lover’s paradise for experiencing the world on two wheels.
Portland Trails
The Community Cycling Center recommends the following bike paths in Portland for riders of all ages:
Springwater Corridor: Ride from OMSI to Sellwood, stopping at Oaks Park along the way. The bike trail starts at SE 4th Ave. and Ivon St. near OMSI, and extends 21 miles to Boring.
Laurelhurst Park: Take a picnic and enjoy the paved trails. The park is located at SE 39th Ave. and SE Stark St.
Kelly Point Park: This quiet park is a perfect ride for bird and boat lovers alike. The park is located at N Marine Dr. and Lombard St.
Seattle Trails
When in Seattle, the Cascade Bicycle Club suggests these enjoyable rides:
Bicycle Sundays in Seattle: On July 3, 10 and 17, and August 21 and 28, Lake Washington Blvd. is closed to cars and open to bikes from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. The four-mile stretch of road starts south of Mount Baker Beach to Seward Parks entrance.
Myrtle Edwards and Elliott Bay Trails: Departing from Seattle’s Olympic Sculpture Park, the Myrtle Edwards trail winds along the waterfront. Connect to the Elliott Bay Trail to discover a bikeway tucked between railway cars and a port facility.
Alki Beach: Located in West Seattle, the smooth Alki Beach Trail connects the West Seattle Bridge to the Alki community. Option: take the passenger ferry with your bike from the Seattle waterfront to Alki.
Visit the Community Cycling Center at www.communitycyclingcenter.org and the Cascade Bicycle Club at www.cascadebicycleclub.org.
I think the ease I found grew naturally out of my chosen means of transport. The bike exposes you to both yourself and the world around you, and so enables a reconciliation of the two — which is, I believe, the foundation of true ease. The bike exposes you to yourself in a hundred ways. Propelled forward by your own desire and your body’s energy, you explore the terrain and limits of each. With no distractions that endlessly occupy our 21st Century landscape, you directly encounter the kaleidoscope of your own thoughts and feelings as each day unfolds.
Of necessity, you grow more and more deeply into your body — into its needs, its strengths and its bottomless intelligence. At the same time you grow more deeply into the world around you. Because the bike is virtually silent, you hear each bird cry, human voice and rustling tree you pass. Because the bike is unenclosed, you feel the world’s sun and witness its clouds shifting overhead. You feel the pull of the breeze, taste its dust and seawater sting. You smell the lush earth. You experience the downpours and heat and cold of the passing weather, and you learn that in the midst of all that, in the core of yourself, you are just fine.
Your exposure to the world is not limited to the orchestrations of nature all around. You are also exposed to people. If you drive in a car across the Great Syrian Desert and pass someone walking along the road, they represent no more than a sort of postcard to you, noticed through the windshield — and you represent no more than a car to them, its passengers largely hidden from sight.
If you are on a bike, the experience is very different: each of you is present to the other under the vast sky, and for a moment you share the world it gazes upon. More often than not, you exchange a glance, a wave, maybe even a word or two.
In our modern lives we tend to seek and retreat into forms of solitary confinement: we find it in our cars, our homes, our ear buds and Blackberries and computers and work stations. The vulnerability of traveling on a bicycle requires the opposite: a heightened attunement to the world around you, all your senses opened, and completely at rest in your body — even as you propel yourself along city streets, mountain trails, or desert highways.
I still feel something lacking in my day if I haven’t gone for a spin on my bike, and met the world and been transformed by it.
Philip Shepherd is the author of 
New Self, New World: Recovering Our Senses in the Twenty-First Century
. Visit www.philipshepherd.com.