03 June 2025
I was alone on single-track in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont when a noise and visual instinct brought me to a screaming halt. The Smoke Monster from Lost was directly above my head. I can only describe it now, not in the moment. It was the racket of heavy machinery and scraping. The forest might fall on me. I didn’t look up toward the sound but peered dead ahead at something my mind hadn’t yet caught up to.
I don’t know how I went from barreling down the trail to frozen still. I’d heard the sound, but then it became silent. There she stood, a large black bear, not fifteen yards before me. Without thinking, my tongue dropped to the floor of my mouth, and I felt the back of my teeth. My breathing calmed. I wasn’t trying, I was being. Without thinking, the words just flowed out of me, out loud to the bear, “It’s okay — I’m your friend.”
I’ve seen black bears while mountain biking before. They usually run off into the woods, especially after making eye contact. This time, she didn’t budge, and she was staring me down.
Cubs. There must be cubs around. I carefully moved my glance away from her to survey the forest. No little bears in sight. I returned my eyes to hers. “It’s okay. I’m a friend of nature. I love you.” She didn’t take her eyes off me. “I’m going to step off my bike. Is that alright?” Getting off the bike should surely have gotten her to run. But no, she was locked on. “It’s okay. I’m your friend. I’m just going to take one step.”
That one step conjured the Smoke Monster above my head. The trees shook like a tornado was ripping them apart. The bear didn’t move, but she moved in spirit. It was the hint of movement. A gesture.
The sound? What was this strange sound that coincided with her gesture?
I looked up. Cubs. Multiple cubs. Oh shit. This is real. They weren’t in one of the trees near me. They were in the very tree that I stood under. There was no way for the babies to get to Mama, no way for Mama Bear to get to her children, but to go through me. I had to move away from this tree.
“It’s okay. I’m your friend. I love you. I love your babies,” repeating the words, still without thought. My breath stayed calm, not trying. Being. I felt in tune with the bear and with nature. There was no fear — only connection.
The day before, Abby and I went gravel riding together. As we cycled away from our parking spot in Burke and approached the entrance to Willoughby State Forest, we wondered what kind of wild creatures lived here. Are there any unsuspecting dangers we should be aware of? Near Dolloff Pond, I heard the sound of angry dogs barking. The increasing volume came from a property off the gravel road. Two dogs raced towards me.
In the past, I might have panicked and tried to out-pedal them. In my mind, in my youth, they would have appeared as angry guard dogs. But on this day, I reacted differently. To my surprise, I slowed down and shouted out, “Hey, good dogs. It’s great to see you.” They slowed down, too. One of them ran up to me as I was still pedaling and lunged at my leg. I wasn’t scared. He licked my foot to say hello, and then both dogs gave me some space to continue the ride.
When we got back to the truck, Abby and I had completed sixteen miles of pedaling and 1600 feet of elevation gain. The views were amazing. The trails were breathtaking in more ways than one. With the ride done, it was time to grab a beer. After a brief Google Maps search, we were on our way to The Hub. This special space overlooked Darling Hill, a section of the Kingdom Trails. It was crowded with mountain bikers of all ages. The inside of the bar was inside a bike shop, and the outside of the bar stood under the picture-perfect blue sky. A young woman was slinging beers, and they had Edward on tap, an American Pale Ale from Hill Farmstead Brewing, our new favorite since parking the Airstream in Vermont.
“I need to come back here and ride this single-track, Abby. I can’t leave Vermont without checking this place out.” I had intended to go earlier in the week, but there was too much rain to ride. The next day was a work day. Something had to give unless I could figure out a way to make my meetings and mountain bike. I’d figure it out.
Abby and I drank beers, shared a chicken salad sandwich, and chatted about our ride. The views and the dogs we saw here in Vermont a few hours earlier brought us back to previous trips in remote places. One story stood out. Abby reminisced about the pack of small crocodiles we stumbled upon in Puerto Rico while hiking a mountain bike trail. We saw them, only after hearing them dart through the forest all around us. It was freaky.
“It’s strange how I used to get more scared. I think I’m in a new place. I don’t know how to describe it, but all this work I’ve been doing to get in tune with my authentic self and with nature is bringing about peace,” I said to Abby, then took a sip of my beer.
I used to “try” to be calm in stressful situations. But lately, I’m just calm.
A few weeks ago, I was driving to yoga at dawn. The city is quiet at those hours, and I didn’t see the huge work van in my blind spot. I cut him off and nearly caused an accident. The dude laid on his horn. He was hot, pulled beside me, and rolled down his window. I rolled down mine. It was road rage in the making. Without thinking, I said with a gentle voice, “My bad. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” The man suddenly looked disarmed and began to laugh. He shook his head and drove off without incident.
I recounted this story to Abby as we drank our Edwards. “But what if there are bears in these woods? Wouldn’t it be good to have some kind of nature-smarts, like street-smarts? If I’m faced with a stressful situation, like someone goes into cardiac arrest, I know what to do.” Abby knows what to do because she’s a nurse experienced in cardiology. She can stay calm in that stressful situation because she’s prepared for it. “Wouldn’t you want to be prepared to encounter a bear in the woods?”
“I don’t know. It’s kind of like being prepared to be mugged and carrying around an attitude, or worse, a gun. Somehow, I think my attitude would create an air of mistrust that would escalate into a bad situation.”
“Are you saying we are at fault when bad shit happens to us?”
“No. This isn’t an easy thing to articulate. I believe if I bring peace and love into the world, I’m more likely to be met with peace and love. It doesn’t guarantee safety. I just think it doesn’t invite unnecessary tragedy.”
By the time we left The Hub, it was settled. I’d be coming back tomorrow to ride these trails.
I kissed Abby goodbye and then punched in directions to the Kingdom Trails Welcome Center in East Burke. The drive would be about an hour from our Airstream site in Morrisville. I needed company, so I let Spotify choose which podcast to play. As I pulled out onto Vermont Highway 15, The Art of Accomplishment started playing. The episode was “Attunement,” hosted by Tara Howley, and she was interviewing Janine Parziale.
I was mesmerized by the discussion as Janine talked about getting in tune with her dog, with family, and with coworkers. She worked through an exercise to get in touch with one’s body. Attunement is about listening intently while remaining present with oneself. It’s like tuning forks. We don’t lose ourselves in the other person, but rather harmonize with them. I couldn’t practice the way she described, starting with placing two hands together, like in a prayer position, because I was driving. Instead, I practiced by dropping my tongue to the floor of my mouth and feeling the back of my teeth. This always grounds me, relaxes me, and connects me to my breath.
When that episode ended, it rolled into another podcast. This time it was Modern Wisdom, and the guest was Joe Hudson. They too got into the topic of “attunement” as I rolled into the parking area for The Kingdom Trails.
I met a new friend, Josh, in the gravel parking lot where Google Maps took me. “Excuse me. Have you ridden these trails before? Do you know where the Welcome Center is?”
He was friendly, and his accent sounded German. “This is your first time here?”
“Yes. I’m looking for the Welcome Center so I can pay and ask them for advice on what to ride.” My mountain bike friends back in North Carolina would think this is silly. Why not just hop on the trails? See if Josh is cool with being followed for a little while. But I really wanted to go in and do this thing properly.
After he pointed me in the right direction, I said, “What’s your name? I want to remember it, should I see you on the trails today.”
“It’s Josh. And you are?”
“I’m Andrew. Thanks, Josh. Have a great ride.”
It was the most welcoming Welcome Center ever. After signing a release and paying for a day pass to ride, I asked the man behind the counter if he could suggest a route. “What are you looking for? We have it all.” I told him I wanted to do a long cross-country ride that would take three to four hours. I’m not afraid of climbing; I don’t mind my wheels leaving the ground, but I’m not into drops more than four feet, and long flowy downhills are my favorite.
He took out a map and showed me several options. After deciding on one, he said, “Would you like me to highlight the route for you?” Of course I did! It reminded me of being a kid and going to AAA with my parents, where they would get a highlighted “TripTik” for long highway adventures.
Between the highlighted map and the Trailforks app on my phone, I had the tools I needed to get in a great ride without getting too lost, so I could make my meeting in the afternoon. I strapped on my helmet, stepped over my REEB SST, clipped in, and headed out on Vermont Highway 114 for the short trek, just past the cemetery, like the man at the counter told me, and found the trailhead I was searching for. After a short pedal through a field, I’d hop on the lowest section of Burnham Down. I was going up.
I’d be climbing for a long time. From Burhham Down, I took a left at the fork for Less Lumber, stayed left onto Stubborn, and then a zig-zag over to Trillium. I didn’t get my first break from climbing until I hit the downhill connector to Magill Fields. There was a lot more climbing to go, so I just relished in this reprieve. Then, in an instant, I was no longer coasting downhill; I was frozen still.
“It’s okay. I’m your friend. I love you. I love your babies,” I repeated. My breath stayed calm. I felt in tune with the bear and with nature. There was no fear — only connection.
The only way for Mama Bear to reach her cubs was for me to move towards her and away from the tree trunk. I took a step. This time, no movement from the bear and no sound from her cubs above. All was silent. I took another step, then another. Everything remained calm.
I’d take one more step that put me about halfway between the bear in front of me and the tree at my back. She launched like a rocket. The sound of her massive body moved through me as she passed by. She went right for the tree. I didn’t turn around. I gently stepped onto my bike and continued my descent to Magill Fields.
I wondered if Abby was in tune with me. The next time I had a signal, I texted her, “Loving you.”
At the apex of the climb, I met a group of mountain bikers at a gazebo called Sunny’s. I asked them to take a photo, already knowing this was a story to remember. After sending it to Abby, I jumped on the long downhill that I’d worked so hard for, and survived getting to. The trail’s name? Black Bear.
I’d arrive back at the gravel lot at the same time as Josh. We grabbed a beer together at Mike’s Tiki Bar. They had Edward on tap. Perfect. He told me, “When you asked me my name, I laughed. There was no way we would see each other. There are so many trails. Over the Edwards, I told him the fresh story of the bear I encountered in the woods.
“That’s not the place you want to be,” he said.
When I was young, I stayed stoic nearly always, even through the most stressful situations. But, on rare occasions, usually after a scary moment was over, I’d blow my lid in some unexpected, uncontrolled anger. I’ve worked for a long, long time to stay calm through these moments, and flush that anger in other ways. On a bike. At the gym. I’ve gotten better and better at working hard to stay calm in the most stressful situations.
But over the past decade, my approach has been different. I’ve been doing yoga, meditation, and practicing self-love. I’ve been striving to find the synergy that maximizes selfishness with selflessness. Be the best version of me to benefit the world. I’m getting in tune with my mind, body, and soul. And I’m tuning into the world around me, loved ones, pets, family, friends, community, and nature.
This felt like a test. First, the near road rage changed its tune to laughter. Then the dogs in the woods harmonized to a friendly lick. And the day after conjuring up a bear with my wife, I found myself in a place no one wants to be, between a Mama Bear and her cubs. In all cases, I didn’t try to stay calm and connected; I just was.
Do I think I’m guaranteed a life without tragedy now? Not at all. It will surely come. Will I be shaken ever again? Of course I will. I already have.
When I bring peace and love into the world, I’m more likely to be met with peace and love.
Thank you for reading.
Health, happiness, kindness, respect
for every being and all things.
— Andrew
Originally published in Namaste Now! on Medium
© 2026 Andrew J. DiMeo, Sr., PhD.
All rights reserved. Permission granted to share with attribution.