A few weeks ago, it happened again. I was riding a trail on my local mountain that I don't ride that often. After mastering a section more badly than well, I climbed back, rode it again and then again. It was actually a classic after-work ride, fitted in perfectly between the latest activities at the office and dinner with the family. I know pretty much exactly how long I need for which trail combination. But that doesn't include the climb back. But at that moment I didn't have that in mind. On the third attempt, there was so much flow that I felt more like rolling on than climbing up again.

Further down, I came across a tree trunk lying crosswise. "A small ramp would fit perfectly there, then I could roll over the obstacle," I thought. So I collected pieces of wood and piled them up to form a ramp at an angle between the tree and the ground. The time? I continued to suppress it. I trudged through the undergrowth in search of suitable pieces. I was actually doing the same thing children do when they are left to do whatever they want. They look for a task and pursue it. It doesn't matter whether it makes sense. I remember how we used to build a BMX track in the forest when we were kids, where we only actually laid out track markings. The natural bumps were enough for us.

And even if an activity doesn't make sense from the outside, it can be extremely important for children. My wooden ramp was also more important to me at that moment than moving forward quickly. I was a child playing in the forest for whom time has no meaning. Others call it switching off and immersing yourself in the activity. For me, it's enough to pursue completely useless goals in the forest in between, like riding a trail a little better or making it a little more rideable. And luckily my family accepts that it sometimes takes a little longer. My mood is all the better for it.