Unlike many of my cycling friends, I do a lot of solo rides, even during organized events. In the latter case, riding alone is partly due to being crazy enough to try the challenging distances, but not being fast enough to stay with others doing those same distances. And it’s also due to the fact that I can do these rides by myself. Sometimes I even prefer it.

I’ve had people ask me what I think about during these long, solo outings. “Not falling over,” is my answer. And that’s not far from the truth.

Actually, I think about making it to the next rest stop, and try not to think any further about the ride than that. I also reminisce about adventurous rides from days gone by, and day-dream about upcoming challenges. Being a fiddle player, I’ll often have fiddle tunes running through my head. I seem to have a tune for each mood.

One thing I don’t do is listen to music via an iPod or some other such MP3 player. I don’t and won’t ride with any sort of external music this way. I know lots of riders who do, in order to stay motivated while they are riding. But I view this as a crutch. It’s far more challenging – and can be far more relaxing – to ride in silence, alone with your own thoughts.

What? Alone with your own thoughts? Why, that’s terrifying!

At least, it seems to be that way for many people in this modern world, what with being plugged in 24/7. This is especially true of the younger generation. I get the feeling that if you took their cellphones and MP3 players away for a day, they’d go stark raving mad.

Yes, being alone with your own thoughts can be terrifying, or at the very least, eye-opening. Anyone one who has practiced meditation can tell you that. It’s quite astonishing to realize how many thoughts zing through your head, and how jumbled, raw, and unfiltered they can be. Some call this barrage of thoughts the “puppy mind” (picture a rambunctious puppy, carousing through your house, peeing on the furniture …)

In yoga, we are taught to not become invested in our puppy mind, to not become attached to its wiles. Most yoga practice is spent trying to quiet our mind. But it’s not like we’re really able to slow down our thoughts. Instead, we let them float by, and try not to generate more thoughts from the ones we just had. We try not to build up stories that, in the end, may have no bearing on reality.

I’m not very good at this yet. It’s hard for most people. Even practiced yogis have trouble. But I’m perfectly okay being alone with my own thoughts. I can ride all day long by myself, with nothing but the wind and my puppy mind chattering away. (If I’m lucky, a fiddle tune interjects itself before I too go stark raving mad.) When the going gets tough and the legs begin to tire, the chattering sometimes coalesces into negative stories, whispering in my ear, telling me to quit, asking me what’s the point, and seducing me with images of pizza at the finish, a nice shower, a warm and cozy bed. Taking the sag car back will get me there quicker, my chattering mind says.

Yes, it can be quite the mental challenge on long distance rides, and riding by yourself makes it even more so.

The other day I met one of the hardy riders from Phoenix that finished 105 miles of the 200 that made up the epic 2011 Spring Death Valley Double Century wind fest. This rider was in a group of three that rode together the whole way. I told him he had a big advantage over me. Not only did he have others to reliably draft behind, they could also keep him motivated. He had others to check his swirling thoughts, his chitta vrittis, his puppy mind.

Me? I had just my own will and my own thoughts. It’s quite the challenge to keep the voices of doubt and uncertainty at bay all day long, out in a fierce wind by yourself. When you are suffering alone, you can’t always think clearly. You make choices that are easy to second guess, once you are back home in your Lazy-Boy recliner.

At the Badwater rest stop on the Death Valley ride, just 17 miles from the finish, I quit for the day and waited for a sag car. A few miles earlier I had been wheezing, and even waiting at the rest stop, was still coughing a lot. I wondered about continuing on, about how much more stress I should put on my lungs. My thoughts were along the lines of, “I’m having trouble breathing. It’s three more hours of dust and wind. The century isn’t my goal, the double century is, so what’s the point in continuing? The cut-off for officially finishing the century is 10 hours. Can I make it in time? Do I care?” I didn’t have anyone there to tell me, “Well, they will probably extend the cutoff time due to the extreme wind, and besides, continuing on is great mental training, if nothing else.” I wish I had thought of that, at the time. But I had no one, other than an enthusiastic volunteer at the rest stop, to help clear my head or encourage me onward.

As I waited at the rest stop, I saw a female cyclist come in, wearing a California Triple Crown jersey — meaning she had at the very least completed three doubles in one year, somewhere in the past. In other words, here was a proven, experienced rider. She was wearing earphones, and told the rest stop volunteers that she had dialed up some heavy metal music on her MP3 player and was ready to rock to the finish. She soon pedaled away, music blaring.

As I watched her leave the parking lot, I wondered: Would she have been able to continue on without music blaring in her ear? Could she survive the last 17 miles of extreme winds with just her own thoughts? Conversely, if I wore earphones and listened to music, would that keep me motivated to finish?

Personally, I think wearing “ear gear” is dangerous. I want to hear the traffic around me. I want to hear other cyclists, as they yell out to watch for potholes, glass, and what not. I want them to hear me. (I’ve had riders tell me that they only use an earphone in one ear, and thus can hear perfectly well. Really? How would they know?)

But more importantly, I want to hear the wind. And I want to hear the silence. In Death Valley, there’s lots of that. Well, if the wind isn’t blowing like, 40-50 mph, that is.

If riding in silence means having to put up with puppy mind, so be it. And should that puppy get off leash, I’ll let it run free. I’ll just try to not pay any attention to where it is “marking territory.”

Ha!