This morning, after a good night’s sleep, I decided to take on a climb I know well—Rossino, where I was born and raised. It only takes a few minutes, but your legs can still hurt and your heart can pound—for all sorts of reasons.
Almost at the top, I asked my bike:
“Tell me, dear bike, do you have a soul?”
She replied:
Mu.
For those unfamiliar with Zen koans: Mu is the answer Zen master Joshu gave when asked, “Does a dog have Buddha nature?” It’s something like “neither yes nor no,” or more precisely, “you’re already asking the wrong question.” Basically, Mu is Zen for: “You’re missing the point—what are you even trying to figure out?”
Fair enough.
In other words, the bike didn’t have a clear, fixed answer. But in the sound of the chain, the rush of the wind, the gears shifting up and down the cassette—Mu felt like the perfect reply.
Looking for the soul of the bike—or the climb, the struggle, or my own—was/is pointless. Better to just ride.
At some point, I stopped asking and just started breathing, pedaling.
Legs, breath, wheels. Thoughts slowing down.
The view? I guess it was there, but that wasn’t the point.
I reached the top without any revelations.
Just a bit sweaty. Calm. Content.
The Rossino climb always has something to say—even if it’s not answering any questions.
Maybe the bike has no soul. Or maybe it does? Would it matter to know?
Anyway, today, it replied like an old Zen master: Mu.
And honestly, that was all I needed.
So many strange ideas we chase—better to just pedal.
Zen Mindfulness Cambridge Zenways Italia 