Noiseless

Looking back over the thousands of miles I've ridden over the past few years, one dimension lurks interstitially, bolstering and binding the larger elements of events and seasons. This aspect of cycling often goes unnoticed, and can be taken for granted, but it is one of the treats of riding. It is the hush, the quiet, the silence, of riding. It doesn't come often, but when it does, it's a time to savor.

The potential to find silence in modern culture is limited. Ambient road noise fills most of our lives, either from a nearby busy road or a nearby freeway. Stand outside on what seems a quiet evening and listen for it, and you will realize that it's there, in the background, blocking silence just as the cityglow blocks the stars. Indoors, noises from stereos, computers, HVAC systems, and plumbing keep silence at bay, as well. There always seems to be something whirring, ticking, or gurgling inside any building. Add to this the nice chatter of the folks in a building, or even the snoring of a placid dog, and silence once again proves elusive.

I first palpably detected silence on a winter ride while climbing a short hill between two forested hillocks about 20 miles from home. With the snow, the trees, and the mounds of earth on either side, along with the remoteness of the area, I suddenly noticed that I was in complete silence. Even the sound of my tires on the ground was being absorbed by the terrain. There were no car sounds, no voices, no breeze, no distant train, nothing, just pure stillness and silence on this sun-soaked winter's day. A hush had fallen over the world I was in.

This arrangement lasted just a few minutes, but left a deep impression. I can still conjure the memory. It was so unusual, so different, and so magical that it stands out among all the places, roads, and situations I've ridden in the past.

Since then, I've become more attenuated to the hush, and have been able to apprehend shorter periods of silence and stillness. Whether it is a 30-second stretch riding streamside when all other noises have abated, or 20 seconds of smooth road on a sleepy Sunday morning, I can now identify and curate smaller pieces of the same gem, seizing these moments with bright realization of how fleeting and unusual they are. When they occur, they can provide the centripetal of a ride, the moment around which the memory shapes.

While it is tempting to despair about the lack of silence in the busy modern world, I'd rather think that the better alternative is to learn to find and delve into those hushed moments we can still find, to enjoy the secret world that suddenly unfolds and that makes the moment yours in a way that is rare and immutable. Cycling can deliver these moments. This is the gift that sits out there for us to grasp, a hushed moment of tranquility, away from it all.