‘Can’t keep my eyes from the circling sky;
Tongue-tied and twisted, just an earth-bound misfit, I.’
In my life, at various stages, I have had various passing fads, a little more than casual brushes with different sports, and less than full-blown obsessions by a small measure (though not much), all of which were taken up with gusto, pursued with vigour, expended on with profligacy, and let go off with reluctance over a rather long tail, which left vestiges of some of the quirks of that sport intact in my mind, and I dare say, body. There is often no rhyme or reason as to why I picked a specific sport up and why I dropped it or even why I dropped it when I dropped it. There is no natural progression that may be observed in my choices too. Most of them are serendipitous, like much of my life, and each of them has left its deep and indelible mark on my psyche, once again, like every other thing in my life. It used to be boxing once (in college), then aerobics (just after college), then walking (after Abhi died), then squash (when I was newly married for the first time), then golf (as I climbed the ladder of financial success), then running (with Kymaia), and now, finally, motorcycling. Each of these did not end abruptly though and I still fancy playing one or the other of these once in a while when the mood strikes.
That said, this post is about a specific technique in one of those hobbies-cum-sports that used to occupy my mind: golf, and how it applies to motorcycling, and if I were to be really philosophical, to life itself. That technique is the concept of a ‘swing thought’. What was that again? Well, to put it simply, it is what you think of when you are about to hit the ball and are swinging at it with your club. These can be simple ideas that allow you to focus on one aspect of your swing: perhaps you want to concentrate on your breathing, wanting to breathe out hard as you bring the clubface down on the ball, perhaps you want to visualise how lovely the flight of the ball will be once you hit it, perhaps you want to tell your head to stay still and on the ball through the entire swing, perhaps you want to think of nothingness and empty your mind of distractions. There are a zillion possibilities. What is constant though is that your thought during the swing and at the point of impact affects the flight of the ball, how far it goes, where it lands, and how it finds itself for your next shot. Why? I don’t know. I am sure there is a scientific explanation for this that shows how the state of your mind (and what part of it is active & lit and by how much and for how long) at the moment of your swing manifests itself into the physical realm through your body and thus influences how it performs, which should explain the effect on the ball. However, regardless of what the actual explanation is, I can assure you, dear reader, that swing thoughts matter, and should you ever attempt to play golf, you’d know this as the sacred truth.
Why did I bring that up here? Because today morning, when I took the motorcycle for a 100km-odd spin down the Pune-Satara highway, I had a rather nervous ride for the first half. All due to bad swing thoughts.
You see, the previous Sunday, I went for my first group ride, which included some serious off-roading (not for motorcycles meant for off-roading, or for riders used to and trained in it, but for me, a newbie on what is decidedly a highway bike), during the course of which I fell. Thrice. While the first of these was more embarrassing than anything, the other two hurt, not just physically but also hit me in my soul. They scarred and scared me. One of them needed 5 people only to lift my motorcycle back to its upright position when it decided to topple from right under me on an upslope with a ridiculous incline, loose rubble, and medium-sized rocks, leaving me standing there trying to huff and puff and lift up the 220kg+ machine. And the other one happened on the way down, where I was so overcome with fear and rage that an adrenalin surge kicked in and I single-handedly straightened her up without losing a beat, even when I could not find a firm footing (how did I do that, you ask? I have no clue; I just did) or before anyone could see my shame of not knowing how to control my machine. Since then, I misjudged my speed into a turn, the other person’s (ahead of me) speed whilst braking, various turning radii at different points, traction on some loose rubble at one place on the highway, and also gear shifts, which made my motorcycle skid unsteadily before I recovered. I did not fall on either of these, but in each of these, my confidence in being able to control my Battlecat III went up. Until I returned, ungloved, unjacketed, and unbooted myself, when it dropped as the Skylab did in 1979. My heart rate was so high that when I looked at my wearable on my wrist, and it showed 189bpm, I thought it had malfunctioned. I felt weak at the knees, and had to sit down and drink some water (this was after I returned from the party where I ate, drank, and made merry immediately after the ride) before rushing into the shower, changing into my pyjamas, and hitting the sack, where it took me a good hour of counting sheep to fall off to fitful and unsatisfying sleep. The next day, I had a fever and a tummy upset (which I blamed on the food, but I know better). It took 4 days for me to return to normal, and it was only this morning, on Friday, that I could go out to ride once again.
Why is that? Last Sunday, everyone congratulated me for my riding, especially given that I was returning to the saddle after 20-odd years. They said that I was a natural and by riding hard and staying at the head of the pack (for the majority of the trip, I stayed right behind the leader with another couple of very experienced motorcyclists), I had impressed them. So, why did I feel that way? Because they, the experienced riders, were riding within their normal skills and mental & physical limitations, while I was pushing the envelope. I was literally at the outermost part of the best I could ride. Any small mistake could have left me with no gas in the tank to surmount. So, while it looked as if I was with them, they maintained their places without trying very hard, while I was stretching myself to the max. Of course, only I knew that. At 50, a man learns how to look calm and peaceful on the surface while paddling furiously below it. Like a duck. But that does not mean he is calm or peaceful. Or, indeed, a duck!
Jokes apart, for the past 5 nights, I have been having dreams of crashing, of skidding, of misjudging spaces and speeds, of sudden obstacles coming up in front of me, of being unable to brake in time, and generally of being thrown from the bike and hurting or killing myself. I have been unable to shake the feeling of being incapable of handling the big cat. And that has led to a steep drop in confidence.
There was only one cure for this loss of nerve: take the Battlecat III out and ride hard. So, this morning, I woke up, got ready, dropped my daughter off to her athletics training, turned the bike’s nose toward Katraj, and gunned the engine. Unfortunately, the black thoughts refused to leave me. I was seeing things on the road that did not exist. I was chasing ghosts. I was scared of things my mind was making up. I could not throttle up. I could not brake confidently. I could not shift gears without hesitation. What had gone wrong? I was just scared shitless on a beautiful, breezy, cool morning with a mild cloud cover, just the perfect weather for motorcycling. Why could I not focus? Just then, it started to drizzle, raising alarm bells in my mind enough for me to start looking for a place to stop and take shelter. In a drizzle that hardly wet all of my helmet visor! Just ridiculous.
Every time I felt like letting loose, I heard a small voice in my head: ‘Negative, Ghostrider. The pattern is full.’
Just then, near Velu, I saw a tea stall. It was small, but the steam rising from the kettle could be seen from afar and it looked inviting. I stopped, ordered a cup, and thought about my problem as I sipped that chai. It had stopped drizzling by then. I thought back to my golfing days and realised that it was the swing thought that was bothering me. I was, if anything, too focused. I needed to actually let things go. Relax. Enjoy the ride. Take it easy. I told myself this is not a competition. I can slow down. I can let the analytical part of my brain take a backseat and let my spine and intuition drive that machine. I can let my skills take over and let the overthinking rest for a bit. If I fall, I fall. I am wearing enough protection to ensure I won’t die. What’s the problem then? I decided to myself that I was going to let the machine come to me now. I will not force it. I will let my arms drop in turns instead of rigidly forcing the bank. I will allow the gear changes to come automatically without thought rather than counting up and then down and trying to double guess myself. I will let the motorcycle flow and sit around it rather than on it, trying to control it. I must empty my mind of all thoughts, whether positive or negative, and just. Let. It. Flow. Like I’d have said, ‘Trust your swing’ in golf, it was time to trust my skills.
Then, I did just that.
I got on, hugged the tank with my thighs, opened throttle, and launched myself towards Satara, zooming past vehicles and people, banking into turns, overtaking and letting others overtake me without much thought, shifting gears on intuition, and generally focusing on enjoying the ride rather than making it some sort of assignment that I had to turn in and be graded on.
And, guess what? It worked.
As I turned around (I have to pick up my daughter from the racecourse at 0730 after I drop her at 0530, and the way I calculate this is: 1 hour out, U-turn, 1 hour in) back toward Pune, my mood too turned back to normal, singing inside the helmet (I love to sing when I am riding; just in case you were wondering, the song today was ‘Learning To Fly’), switching through traffic effortlessly, enjoying the ride thoroughly as I looked around and took in the landscape with the sun rising to my right, peeking through the clouds, birds going about their business, the villages waking up, trucks crawling towards factories and warehouses in the big city, joggers, walkers, and people going to offices and shops. Suddenly, all was well. What can one not achieve with the right swing thought!
Indeed. The world is a beautiful place. Again.
And now, I feel the need. The need for speed.
Thank you, golf. And thank you, motorcycling. You make me feel alive. Again.
