Knowing is Flowing: A Ballad of Belonging

Story and photos by Dylan Sherrard. 

It's a Canadian stand off that starts every lap. 

"Lead the way."

"Naw, you can get it!"

"I've only ever ridden this one once or twice. I don't really know the lines."

"Okay, fine. Chase me." The descent begins, and we fall fast into a rhythm. Each of us is a part of the train, carving out our path in succession of whatever takes place in front of us. I sometimes think of it like a dance, fancy, free and floating, following the flow of the leader. And it's a special depth of flow that comes with knowing we can trust the rider in front of us. We mimic the motions of the friend out front, feeling the trail rise and fall or twist and turn before we really see it. Isn't it strange how we struggle to recite a section of trail, yet once we're rolling, the memory of movement hits us swiftly? The language of the trail is learned best when shared. Sure, we can explain the lines in great detail, but the path of greatest flow is a little more like a secret that's whispered once the tires are turning. Muscle memory is built with each pass, and the knowledge is stored for the next one. We forget about the speed or the scale, and the trust grows deeper with each turn. Every slip before the serendipitous sensation of grip lets us know we're learning. There's a shout that echoes in the forest nonetheless, and our lungs pull in the wild scent of alpine air as our eyes grow wide. We reach the bottom breathless and laughing, the unspoken language of the trail that we now know a little more fluently. Knowing is flowing, and in that flow, we're finding exactly what we came for. A Ballad of Belonging - short stories of the moments that define our ride.