I drove up two hours to Mt. Tremper in upstate New York today to visit a monastery I had heard about, but their Sunday schedule had been cancelled for a Dogen conference that had been going on since Thursday. I stuck around for the closing of the conference and then for a dedication of a hermitage that was just completed for solitary confinement . . . actually, I have no idea what it will be used for. And then I stuck around for free lunch.

I talked to a few people. An older (she implied it, really I don't think she was that much older than me) Chinese American woman, originally from Berkeley who came east to attend Barnard College and then stayed out here. An older German doctoral candidate who saw me drive in with my road bike strapped to the back of my car chatted me up because she's a cyclist. And a younger white dude from Toronto talked with me a little while walking back from the hermitage blessing. All in all it seemed like a nice enough monastery, but not enough to travel two hours regularly to get to.

Oh, but the head honcho impressed me, the "Zen Master" whatever (who the hell feels comfortable being referred to as a Master? You don't see doctors who are the top of their game calling themselves Master Doctors or "I'm a Master Lawyer"), whose book I read last year and was blown away by. He had a New York accent and reminded me that one of my goals out here is to pick up a regional accent, but he was a charismatic old fella who gets your attention as soon as he opens his mouth. Otherwise, I may or may not go back to feel out their normal functioning.

Anyway, that German woman who chatted with me about cycling gave me a recommendation for a cycling route, and I think she may be pretty hardcore because the course ended up being a 42 mile killer. I was looking to do and was prepared for something about 30 miles, and she said it was about 25 miles, and I guess it was my fault since as big as a map geek I am, I could have seen from the map that the course was longer than 25 miles. Way longer than 25 miles.

I discovered a funny way that my short-term memory works, though. Maybe it's from years of killing brain cells with alcohol (**mmm, alcohol**). I memorized the route as she plotted it on the map, and also the little things she mentioned about it and to watch out for, but my short-term memory has almost zero recall before things actually happen. It was always after the fact that I thought, "oh, that was what she was talking about blah, blah, blah". For example, there was one intersection where I stopped for several minutes, at a loss which way to go, and after I chose (the correct way), I recalled her mentioning a certain unmarked sharp right turn and a sign leading to Woodstock. And it was too late that I recalled her mentioning a downhill that "you will be braking most of the way". It would have made more of an impact if she called it what it really was: a screaming suicide plunge. It was out of control, man. I was jamming on my brakes and unable to slow down to a comfortable speed. I came way too close to oncoming traffic on those small laned mountain roads than I care to, but the option was to risk going off the side. I hit 41 mph on a road that was far from smooth. It was a seriously bumpy, teeth-chattering, hand-jiving ride all the way down. The only times I've gone over 40 mph have been on long descents on a smooth road surface. That was just nuts. Yea, I'd like to see you doing the hand-jive while riding a bike.

Zen Mountain Monastery main building, Mt. Tremper, NY.


Blessing of the hermitage.


And ta-da! Here's one of the things I love about the East Coast. Rivers, streams, creeks. Just love crossing them, seeing them, thinking about what they are, what they do, what they symbolize. What do they symbolize anyway?