Nathan Doneen

One. That's all you get. Just one.

The realization was terrifying; but a second look made it liberating.

There's something unique about riding a bike. Just over a year ago, I began to train for a long distance mountain bike ride. I spent a lot of time on my bike the next few months. Lots of time–enough to think, reflect on my experiences, dwell on life. That's when it happened. I realized I only had one and that I was already in its midst.

I had been broadening my philosophical horizon at the time and was reading and listening to a lot of Alan Watts. What most stood out from his work was his notion of time.

He wrote that there really is no past, that there really is no future.

How do we experience the past? We look to history books, documentaries, movies; stories from our parents, grandparents, and tribal elders; and most importantly, we have memories. Our own memories remain our most potent source of knowledge about the past because they were based on direct experience. But all of these are things we experience in the present. We don't read or watch movies in the past – we read and watch in the present. We don't hear stories in the past – they are told to us in the present. And our memories, they fit the bill too – memory recall occurs in the present moment.

What about the future? You might say, "Well I've been planning to do this and do that. Those are in the future." Well, no; they're not. Those are called plans. Plans are nothing more than intentions, nothing more than a visualized action. Any guesses as to when exactly we formulate those intentions, those visualizations?

It was late May and my trip was just a couple of weeks away. I was out on one of my last major rides before I left and I wanted to see just how far I could go. It had been a hot day and the trail I rode cut through pines before it entered an arid, un-vegetated landscape.
I rode to the far terminus of the trail before I turned around and started back. I was just a few hundred yards from my car, the other terminus, when my odometer passed the 90 mile mark. That was the furthest I had ever ridden in a single day. I was satisfied to say the least, but I was so close to riding my first century.

Gnats danced in the grass where I sat, just out of eyeshot from the parking lot where my car sat. I snacked while considering my options. I was already exhausted and the day was getting late. If I rode to my car and went home, it would have been a successful day. But 100 miles…it was a milestone just 10 more away.

I remembered that this was my only moment. No past, no future, just this present moment, the only moment to define myself. I finished my snack, jumped back on the bike, and rode away from my car. One hour and ten miles later I loaded my bike and crawled into my car, sore, exhausted, but with my first 100+ mile ride under my belt. I looked at myself in the visor mirror. Salt caked my temples and cheeks and dirt was smeared across my forehead where I had wiped away the sweat; in the middle of it all, a wide, satisfied smile.

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