Riding the rougher, older Missisquoi Valley Rail Trail.
The brain is a muscle.
As soon as I started pedaling my bicycle, I heard my inner voice rise, as if moving by muscle had loosened new ideas for the novel I’d shoved aside (again), this time in favor of attending to prepublication tasks for Reviving Artemis: The Making of a Huntress.
Simultaneously, I started to pant and felt how my belly had turned to jelly during the last three weeks, when I’d neglected to exercise. It’s while I’m moving by muscle—walking, hiking, biking—that my ideas shake loose and rise to the surface.
I’ve relapsed before, thinking that working at my desk was more important than remaining fit—and I’ve always paid the price. Exercising isn’t just about maintaining physical conditioning; it’s also a matter of hearing my inner voice. Moving by muscle supports that other muscle—my storytelling brain.
The delight of feeling that voice rise inside me overshadowed the prospect of the long bike ride we’d planned: a week riding the Lamoille Valley (LVRT) and Missisquoi Valley Rail Trails (MVRT) in northern Vermont.
Riding the rail trails.
Sometimes, I had ideas for advancing my work-in-progress, ideas that were as clear and straight as the LVRT crossing a stretch of open valley, (That’s a grain elevator in the distance.)
We rode west from St. Johnsbury on the LVRT, through a wide, open valley surrounded by distant hills. The trail never exceeded a 3% grade and motor vehicles are prohibited, so my mind freewheeled while my legs pedaled. We cycled fast enough to generate a breeze and slow enough to admire the profusion of wildflowers in bloom and catch sight of deer, mink, a snapping turtle, hawks, a bald eagle, and innumerable songbirds. We also met people and listened to their stories when we stopped at a village or store.
On our fourth day out, with over eighty miles under our tires, we turned onto the MVRT, which is a rougher track than the spanking new Lamoille trail. I was beginning to feel strong, but temperatures in the nineties nearly felled me. My legs held out, but I was hot—and saddle sore. I was no longer spinning words into stories. I was thinking only about how much further we had to ride before I could stop. I’d like to say I behaved well, but I’d be lying.
In planning the trip, I’d objected to riding forty-plus miles in one day. I told Tim, “I want to have fun and have time to read at the end of the day.”
He assured riding the rail trail would be easy. “A piece of cake.”
I would have gladly eaten a piece of cake, but on our longest, hottest day, we pedaled many miles on empty before we found trailside food.
All told, we rode about 150 miles, 130 on rail trails. We crossed about 70 bridges on the LVRT alone. As I rode, my thoughts meandered like the Black Creek, which we crossed again and again. Sometimes, I had ideas for advancing my work-in-progress, ideas that were as clear and straight as the LVRT crossing a stretch of open valley, and sometimes my thoughts about marketing Reviving Artemis bumped over weeds as the MVRT ducked through the dark woods. But as with any long writing project, I kept pedaling.
Writing a book is slow and steady work, just like walking or biking. Writing is a form of moving by muscle.
Forthcoming from Sibylline Press November 4! Now available to preorder wherever books are sold.
Deborah Lee Luskin has been living and writing about Vermont for over 40 years.