THE FRICTION OF MOSS
Riding your bike off the map and into rainblanketed mountains isn’t most people’s idea of a ‘fun’ activity. I mean, who does this? After spending more than an hour to climb to nearly 1 000m, we pass the peak of Takanawa-san, outside the town of Matsuyama, and turn onto yet another road with no name.
It’s day seven, and though I can’t fathom the reason, the roads we climb today are relatively well-paved and clean; but the descents are dusted with pine needles and sport a green band of moss in the middle, like a deranged racing stripe. Prior to the descent, Eric Smith had observed that the coefficient of friction for moss approaches zero. Although traffic has cleared some of the needles, which improves our odds for traction, it also serves as a reminder to anticipate the presence of a car or truck.
The practical upshot is that I drop down a steep mountain road barely wide enough for Soco’s Land Cruiser, on a strip of wet tar rarely more than 35cm across that curves unpredictably around the rock outcroppings. I don’t feel safe switching lanes unless I can see 100m up the road, which occurs but a handful of times during an eight-kay descent. The manoeuvre requires me to shoot straight across a section with the bike as upright as a flagpole, so that I won’t risk sliding out. Each time it makes me nervous enough to become self-conscious, aware of my hands in the drops, how I sit in the saddle. When my rear wheel slides ever so slightly, it gives me a jolt of adrenaline sharp enough to make my whole body shake. As if that isn’t enough, I have to remind myself that each time I enter a blind turn there could be a 1.8m-wide vehicle around the bend of the 2.4m-wide road. Eric Romney, who at his peak had been talented enough as a racer to receive contracts with pro teams, has a sixth sense about approaching vehicles, as well as traction. He rolls into descents with the sort of confidence I reserve for roads I know by heart.
Do you have a spiritual practice?
This is it.
What kind of a prayer this is meant to be, I can’t say. And yet, I am here, going slowly enough to be prudent, and fast enough to keep my brain in the present.