“It gots to be accepted;
That what? That life is hectic.”
C.R.E.A.M. by Wu-Tang Clan

Although they’re all credited with writing their legendary song, C.R.E.A.M., I’m pretty sure it didn’t take all of the Wu-Tang Clan’s nine iconic members to write that lyric from their debut 1993 album. Whether they all pitched in, heads bobbing as they gathered around a smoking ashtray, behind a mixing desk, or if it were just a single MC with a pencil and notebook scratching notes while on a grimy subway, one thing is for sure: there was one purpose. Whether a posse of nine or an army of one, single-mindedness helped create the masterpiece, confirming we need to accept that, indeed, “life is hectic”.

It’s how we deal with our hectic lives that matters.

And there are many ways to deal with how hectic life has become recently. For most, it’s a combination of different things that take their mind off the busyness of life; for others, it’s singlemindedness, or a single act, that calms them, enabling a refocusing of the mind—away from the stressors of daily life. If you’re reading this magazine, I’m sure that—for you—one of these things is probably mountain biking; a single-minded act. I know for me, personally, at times, riding is more than just a sport; more than just an activity to fill a couple of hours. It’s a meditation of sorts: a metronomic meditation.

Metronomic meditation. I didn’t come up with this phrase but, when I first heard it, it struck a chord. Meditation is “a practice that involves focusing or clearing your mind using a combination of mental and physical techniques”. Both are things that mountain biking requires. Particularly on a technical descent or fast-but-flat singletrack, focus is paramount. I can think of countless times where, had I not been 100% focused on the task at hand, I’d be down a bank, over the bars, or have slid out on an ice-like, wet clay surface. That need for focus means clearing my mind of clutter and forgetting the day-to-day. There’s no space for thoughts other than those required to keep the ship upright, and should my mind wander back to ‘normal life’ even just a little, the consequences could be painful.

Several factors add the metronome-like aspect to mountain biking. Firstly, the pedalling. Stop pedalling while on the flat or going uphill and we fall over; it’s pretty simple. If we’re out for a big day on the bike, the metronome- like effect of pedalling can last hours with only a marginal variation of cadence. It’s simple to ignore, but we’re often pedalling 80 times a minute—multiply that by three hours and 14,400 rotations, which is no doubt metronomic. Then there’s the metronome of our breathing, which is directly related to our pedalling cadence and power. Both affect our breathing, how deep it is, and its frequency.

Boil it all down and it’s pretty basic, really. Between our 100% focus on the trail and the subconscious metronome of our cadence and breathing, we can slip into a trancelike state. Now I think about it, some might call this the ‘Flow State’, but for me, ‘Metronomic Meditation’ is equally adept because we essentially remove ourselves from reality and are forced to cleanse our mind of the day-to-day—a ‘mind bath’ perhaps.

As much as I’m a mountain biker at heart, I spend a lot of time on my local roads, asphalt or gravel. This riding ticks the sporting and physical aspects of riding for me, but I find it’s only partially metronomic meditation. Roads are wide, and I don’t need to pick a cautious line between obstacles or weight my pedals just right across an off-cambered section. I can just concentrate purely on pedalling and staying on my side of the six-inch wide white line, still able to contemplate my daily problems and figure out what I’m having for dinner. There’s undoubtedly some metronomic pedalling and breathing happening, but it’s hardly meditation.

Life is hectic. It’s fair to say, at least for me, mountain biking is the truest form of single- minded metronomic meditation that eases that hecticness (is that even a word?!), if even just for a few hours a week.