Tabletop flat and remote, the landscape pulled me in and devoured me as I pushed my road bike to the northeast and away from Crookston proper in an area not known for filling up Instagram feeds. But this wasn't a ride so much about place.
The air was cool bordering on cold, but the sun was unobstructed and warmed my back, while when I looked up, a forever sky disappeared into a horizon that never seemed to get closer with each turn of the wheels. No matter. I was out in mid-October, knowing my window was closing on fall cycling. I had no target or speed in mind — I was out purely for the pleasure of moving by bike.
Many elements came together to make it a memorable ride — and memories of my autumn rides are the easiest to summon. In this case, the newness of the terrain — I'd never been to these rural parts some notoriously consider ugly — and getting out solo heightened my experience over those 35-plus miles. In the draining daylight and the warming sunshine, it occurred to me that my timing was spot-on and my enduring thought was true: To roll in the transition of autumn — the chill, the changing light, the auburn hues — is a direct path to mindfulness.
The internal focus narrows for sure. Am I geared up well? How am I feeling? How is my body reacting, how is it working in different conditions?
And the external: Riding into the crosswinds of a new season, the dense air, and nature's rewards stimulate awareness that, in essence, is in lockstep with mindfulness practice, syncing up the mind and body.
Harvard psychologist Ellen J. Langer got to the point about awareness in Rob Walker's book "The Art of Noticing":
"When you actively notice new things, that puts you in the present. … As you notice new things, it's engaging, and it turns out it's literally, not just figuratively, enlivening."
The conditions Up North created an alchemy that kept me in the moment and, engaged, I had a feeling of awe about what I was doing (cycling), when (autumn) and where (open plain) that was a powerful tonic.