The single, best word to describe the ineffability of cycling

Ma. Ma, man.

I met someone new recently. He wasn’t entirely new. He’s the husband of a really close family friend who lives in Toronto. They’ve been together for years, but I seemed to dodge the in-person meeting. Never on purpose. It just never happened. 

Anyway, I finally met the guy. This created a unique social situation. When we met, we already knew a lot about each other, through descriptions given by our significant others.

“Oh, you’d like him. He’s into stuff you like.” 

No firsthand knowledge whatsoever. So what do you talk about when you already know vague things about the other person? 

I asked myself this question some minutes after the handshake and pondered it.

And then I thought, “ah, screw it. Just ask him all the questions. See where it goes.” Mostly because I wasn’t creative enough to think of unique talking points in the moment.

We did all the expected small talk and then just sorta went our separate ways during the party. It was a guacamole party, if you’re curious. (Read about my award-winning, no-bullshit guac here.) Eventually our paths crossed again, as winding paths do at parties, and we got into some meat.

I had just come back from a long bike trip, where a friend and I completed a 326-mile trek across Ohio. We hadn’t done the entire thing in one go. (I feel I must point this out. I mean, I’m no Lance Armstrong). We broke it up into two trips and on this particular night I had just about 12 hours of recovery behind me after a 152-mile ride. 

He was intrigued, so we talked about that for a while. I told him about the logistics behind the trip — what we packed, what routes we took, where we stopped for food, what we did — and didn’t do — about sleep, what we saw along the way, the aching muscles, the battle between mind and matter, etc. etc. He seemed to really be intrigued by it.

And then he said something that continues to stick with me.

“That kind of thing really appeals to me,” he said, naturally delving into one of his recent adventures. His involved scuba diving with his father- and brother-in-law. They went to Bonaire, an island off the coast of Venezuela in the Caribbean. 

He said it was just a week of diving. They found a cheap hotel, bought food and beer from a local grocery and went diving every single day. 

He told me about diving 115 feet down into the blue and exploring a sunken ship. The sunshine. The beer. The rickety truck they rented for the week. The sand. The daily boat rides out to a different dive spot. He told me about night dives. He told me about seeing a giant sea turtle. 

At this point, I’m wide eyed, fully engulfed in his wistfulness. He paused. Smiled. He was midway into an anecdote about being in the ocean, floating, letting their eyes feast on the beauty below.

“Yeah. You know, we’d all look at each other with that same look and we would just … know. Like, we were all seeing the same things and there was a silent, agreement that, you know, ‘this is awesome.’” 

Scuba diving — for him — captures the epitome of the Japanese concept of “Ma,” he said. 

Donna Canning, an Ikebana artist and co-founder of Unique Japan, explains Ma as being filled with “nothing but energy and feeling. It speaks of silence as opposed to sound, of lack as opposed to excess. It is the momentary pause in speech needed to convey meaningful words, the silence between the notes that make the music.” 

I find this cool on a number of levels. 

First, the English language doesn’t have a word for this. And so I’m grateful to have been introduced to a concept that describes a feeling so inarticulate. So … ineffable and intuitive. 

Second, the more I learn about Ma, the more I realize how applicable its definition is to the way I feel about riding my bike. 

There are certain points during every ride that is total … Ma. It sounds New Agey, or whatever. But I like the idea that a two-letter word can envelop such a deep idea.

I mean, I could try describing everything that goes into riding my bike to try and capture that feeling. Something like this: 

There’s the early morning drives to the trailhead, sipping coffee, the sound of the windshield wipers erasing the dew. Opening the door in the parking lot and hearing the birds greet me, hearing my feet crunch the gravel. The click of my helmet. The deep breath of fresh air. The anticipation of jumping into the saddle. 

The first pedal strokes, and the feeling of oxygen filling my blood. My heart beating faster, getting acquainted with this quicker pace.

Smelling the pine needles and hearing the squirrels’ sharp nails scurrying up the bark. 

If I’m riding with someone, there’s the pause in conversation that happens during a painful climb and simultaneous “woo” as we both experience the jolt of adrenaline on a long, hard-earned descent. 

But now, if you ask me to describe the feeling I get when riding my bike, I’ll probably just respond by saying “Ma.” 

That ought to spark a unique conversation.  

So, thanks person-I’ve-known-existed-but-had-never-met. Thanks for introducing me to a concept that gave me one more word to use when describing the joys of cycling. I will continue to think about Ma and how the concept can be understood in other aspects of my life.

Maybe I’m misunderstanding Ma. For now, though, I’ll settle for my rudimentary understanding and hope it made sense to at least one of you.

That’s all for now folks. See ya [virtually] on Wednesday.

What’s the single, best word you have to describe that feeling you get while cycling? Leave it in the comments. Or don’t. Free country. But please do, dammit. (Side note, my wife thinks it’s spelled “damnit.” I disagree. Thoughts?)