During rides with long stretches, I’ll often hit a “zone” whereby I’m simultaneously tuned into and out of every sensory aspect of the ride. It’s kind of hard to grok, but while I notice every pebble and bounce of my bike’s metal beam, I am at the same time be oblivious to the passage of miles. I’ll track the proximities and trajectories of cars, dogs and other cyclists, but I’d be hard-pressed to name the color or make of either.

After the crowd thinned out, I was happily in deep thought. I had been following a rider for a few miles when she introduced herself and made a comment about a friend who hit a rock because he had been paying attention to the women riders’butts. She dropped back a bit to let me block the wind for a while — I’m a natural at this — or perhaps ponder her previous statement. What is the sound of one hand clapping? What is the sound of one hand clapping? What is the sound of one hand clapping?
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