d myself. "Maybe
I'll take myself for a ride across America and do some thinking."

21. Bicycle Ride--The Continental Divide

Three months into the cross-country bicycle trek, I pulled off the road
west of Walden, Colorado. I was stuck. The problem was not so much
the physical journey. True, I was towing additional weight because
towns were farther apart and because Nunatak was no longer a pup. But
my leg muscles were rock solid from the miles in Massachusetts, New
York, the southern tip of Canada, Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, South
Dakota, Wyoming, and Colorado, and I felt confident I could ride to the
coast.

The problem was more the inner journey. The more I thought about Rama,
the more I understood. The more I understood, the more I wanted to
write. If I wrote, I might publish. If I published, I would betray
Rama. If I didn't publish, I would betray those whom I might have
warned. I thought, "Damned if I do, damned if I don't." I became
emotionally exhausted. I decided to end the bike trip, return to
school, and take a break from the past.

But I still wanted to believe that Rama was a powerful incarnation and
that I was an advanced soul of sorts. I did not yet understand that
only when I checked my desire to soar, like Icarus, too close to the
sun would the impasse disappear, and I would accept who Rama was and
who he was not.

That night on a bed of wildflowers, I petted the husky and gazed at the
canopy of stars. A warm breeze carried the scent of pine. I felt at
peace. I was proud and relieved that I had used my rational side to
alter the course of my bike trip when my world was in need of balance.
I looked forward to hitchhiking west with the dog. I looked forward to
school. I took slow, deep breaths and listened to the silence of the
valley. My thoughts ebbed into a sea of calm. Flecks of starlight
grew brilliant and close. I felt complete. I lost awareness of the
passing of time. Suddenly, I realized I had been meditating. I felt
surprised. I had not consciously meditated since leaving Rama one year
before. Yet the state of mind felt oddly familiar, and I tried to
understand why.

I thought about the meaning of meditation. To meditate, I supposed,
was to concentrate and reflect on thoughts, images, or phenomena. It
was to work in a garden or stand in a subway and listen to currents of
the mind. It was to lose track of time completely, absorbed in
memories of a