Mind and the Rider

It was a late PNW September, and I was driving into the Salmo-Priest Wilderness. The plan was to get to this remote lookout tower at an altitude of over 6,000 ft. It stood out as an intriguing station at the intersection of Washington, Idaho, and the Canadian wilderness. The path leading to the tower was rated "white-knuckle" grade by this book on Washington's Wild Roads. Such climbs typically lead to exquisite views, so this one caught my curiosity. The GPS was a bit lost, so I relied on a traditional map and Forest Road markers to identify the last segment of the climb.

Entrance to this last leg was flanked by overgrown shrubs. Even though less trodden, the road itself looked navigable. But a few miles into it, I encountered that familiar feeling of the vehicle slipping sideways. The road was quite weathered, because even a Wrangler with high clearance and 35-inch tires was losing traction. The first few seconds were disconcerting. An accident on a remote stretch could quickly become serious. But once 4WD was engaged, it was smooth sailing. Reaching the top, the Jeep and I were greeted with some chilling hail and snow. This was definitely among those exquisite PNW moments.

Often, the approach is to explore relatively risky back roads in the Jeep before attempting them on a motorcycle. But in hindsight, this particular road felt unsafe even on a capable machine like a Wrangler. In fact, even moderately rugged forest roads could be more dangerous than extremely difficult 4x4 trails. When nature remolds terrain, it does so in unexpected ways. Dedicated 4x4 trails are carefully maintained, and the risk is more predictable. But working through this uncertainty led to something unique and vivid.

Standing at that altitude, in near-freezing temperatures, and with both international and state boundaries on the horizon, it was silence and splendid views all around. I finally climbed back into the Jeep, only to hear the rumbling of the hail landing on the windshield. With a backdrop of dusky autumn hues, catching some Black Sabbath on the trusty satellite radio made all this even better.

Several critical decisions in our lives are based on instinctive judgments; we might rationalize them later, but life is too complex for purely logical choices. For example, the risky climb along an unkempt road was based on instinctive assessment. We have a visceral drive for exploration – whether it's in the sphere of ideas, back-country landscapes, or anything else. This includes exploration through study as well. My decision to read F. A. Hayek wasn't based on a detailed assessment but on the same visceral drive.

When something makes sense without a clear articulation of why, it means the mind cannot fully model the situation. Even though it's not fully understood, the situation is coherent enough to justify further exploration. The outcome of that exploration becomes feedback to the mental model. The next time a similar situation is encountered, the picture will be clearer. From this perspective, exploration is an evolutionary instinct. Those who expanded their horizons – physical or mental – simply acquired more tools for adaptation.

Going back to motorcycling, but this time it was in the Sierra Nevada wilderness. It was that same visceral drive for exploration that motivated a ride up this narrow, single-lane road. That led to a cliff-adjacent winding road through the High Sierra Mountains – from there into a picturesque memory of motorcycling at 10,000 ft. Like riding up that single-lane into the unknown, a persistent study of F.A. Hayek provided new insights. His explanations expanded my own mental models. This exploratory mode is unavoidable because new situations are a recurring feature of life. Overcoming that uncertainty demands making instinctive choices and learning from the feedback to discover a fully articulated reason.

Pictures can bring back vivid and specific memories, and the same can happen when listening to music – for that matter, any sensory input can trigger this. Spend enough years listening to heavy metal, and overlap those same years with motorcycle riding, and the odds of them converging increase. Certain riffs have now become time machines to relive specific motorcycling experiences.

Listening to the opening riffs of Opeth's Bleak rewinds to that 2:00 AM lonely highway ride, to this small college town to see them live. Jazz-fusion-like bass lines in Beyond Creation's Surface's Echoes bring back late autumn rides and glimpses of Olympic Peninsula sunsets. Deafheaven's Honeycomb recreates early summers spent exploring the backroads and forts around Port Townsend. Frankly, it's not an exhaustive list; somehow, these experiences got overlaid in memory. One begets the other. But this is not intentional, and it doesn't happen all the time.

Often, such recurring patterns motivate the study of the underlying causes. In the past, we were satisfied with merely discovering that correlation. Just like how animals keep returning to a spot where they got food, but without knowing the underlying reason. Similarly, primitive men were satisfied with different degrees of correlation. For example, natural medicines associate certain herbs with symptoms and cures, or certain actions like freezing food or using spices as preservation mechanisms. But they never investigate the structural properties of herbs or the underlying mechanisms causing that effect.

The modern scientific mentality was not satisfied with those mere correlations. It sought to discover causes, theorize, and apply those mechanisms in multiple diverse contexts. For instance, insights from discovering the causal mechanism for overlapping memories may lead to other insights. An understanding of the underlying structure that causes this may lead to new theories — how certain neural pathways can be intentionally activated. That may have unrelated applications, such as motivational tools or strategies for mitigating depression. Transforming it into a generic theory that finds relevance in diverse psychological contexts.

If we abstract further, then the concurrent activation of neural signals may have applications in computing circuit designs. The logic embedded in such circuits is driven by changes in their internal state triggered by external stimuli, similar to how the mind itself operates. If we abstract further, a neural layout may provide inputs to design efficient factory workflows. They both process input stimuli through a series of dependent steps to produce an output.

Eventually, a complex system will have encapsulated layers and substructures. Studying and isolating those structures generates abstract, reusable information. In short, if we iteratively examine and identify an intelligible structure in overlapping memories, then its utility might extend beyond motorcycling metalheads. To paraphrase Louis Rougier, it's a mentality that moves from specific to the abstract.

"Rising from the concrete to the abstract, Greek geometry disengaged the intelligible essence from the particular observable details, or accidents, as such particulars were later to be called. In this it exercised the proper function of intelligence: the faculty of abstracting, of grasping the unity of a concept in a number of particular cases, the constancy of relationships and permanence of structures amid the diversity of sensible patterns; in a word, finding unity in multiplicity and harmony in discord. With the Greek language was born the language of abstraction." — Louis Rougier

That Greek language of abstraction can be applied across disciplines and structural layers – from theoretical psychology to institutional economics. That means, the same process scales beyond individual reasoning into the design of institutions themselves. For instance, moving from specific rules to the abstract Rule of Law illustrates the same concept. Instead of directing everyone to specific duties, we created laws that satisfied certain properties, leading to an efficient social order. An obvious example would be — the vehicles on the road are never directed to destinations, instead the expectation is to just follow the rules of the road. We basically abstracted the essence of efficient navigation into the impersonal Rule of Law.

Movement from Magna Carta to American federalism is sort of that steady evolution from specific to the abstract. In fact, Federalism adds one more layer to that dispersed rule-of-law framework. Sort of a higher-level instrument to institutionalize the development of good laws. An attempt to automate the generation of efficient laws itself. As James Madison explained, all the checks and balances should lead to good legislation. The results of this experiment can be debated, but there is an interesting scientific argument for an approach like Federalism. We can see parallels to that in modern scientific methods.

In fact, Federalism is structurally very similar to scientific frameworks such as ISO 21434, ISO 26262, etc. Just as in Federalism, these standards enforce internal consistency of information against a set of goals by subjecting the system to diverse external pressures. The V-model refines engineering details, while federalism refines legislation. ISO26262 may have a narrow goal, but it still does not dictate the nature of the vehicle to be engineered; following it just enforces systemic consistency of whatever the engineers want to design. Federalism has a relatively more open-ended goal and, as a result, introduces greater personnel and role dependencies in the outcome. But they are both structured approaches to stress test epistemological foundations. They both abstracted the properties of the process of reasoning that leads to truth, then designed an impersonal framework to enforce it.

Instinctive exploration and abstraction enable the development of reusable cognitive tools and functions. They allow the development of higher-level mental models to deduce meaningful information from complex life experiences. But improving their explanatory power requires repeated application in real-world encounters, followed by refinement through feedback. This process is illustrated in the next chapter.

Adaptation is the key to survival — at work, at home, or, for that matter, in any social environment. The exact adaptive mechanism depends on the situation. But a causal explanation for a problem always helps. Essentially, why did something happen? Explanations to that 'Why' can happen through therapy, through study, or it can also happen when they are combined with motorcycling.

Understanding the cause requires theory, and adequate explanations mandate good theories applied to correct contexts. Reading provides us with theories. But the hardest part is internalizing those theories and applying them to real life. Marvin Minsky famously said, "You don't understand anything until you learn it more than one way". There is a certain depth and significance to this quote. Any relatively complex theory has several implicit assumptions. One way to discover those implicit assumptions is to apply those theories across multiple contexts and see the predictive power. For instance, here is a theory — "Apocalypse Now" is a great war movie. But is it great because it's a war movie? Not all war movies are great, so is it because it's three hours long and well edited? But then there are other mediocre movies that share the same qualities. We are discovering implicit assumptions by applying our theories to multiple contexts. This is a lot like how basic scientific processes of induction and deduction work in a lab.

Beyond the specific question of a movie, we can also apply this refining process to higher levels of abstraction. For example: "Apocalypse Now" is gritty, atmospheric, and sufficiently dark. This can be interpreted as an abstract artistic model that can now be applied to paintings, music, lyrics, and poetry! Can we now say someone who enjoys "Apocalypse Now" will also enjoy doom metal? When sufficiently abstracted, a model can be applied to various contexts to discover new information – details about the context where it's applied and about the model itself.

To illustrate this principle beyond art — here's another example of a social theory: 'democracy is an effective process to make decisions'. But, if we generalize that to all decision-making, we'd soon be subjected to the whims and fancies of the majority. No organization can function by making all decisions via voting. Sufficiently abstracting an observation into a model, then applying it to a new context, enables transfer of learning. It's a process that is not limited by the boundaries of genres or scientific disciplines, and is instead tested by the limits of our own cognitive boundaries. It's worth emphasizing that abstraction introduces a loss of information, so it should be used carefully as a starting point for deeper engagement, not accepted as is without scrutiny.

Eventually, the motto of abstract, apply, test, and progressively refine mental models can be universal. Higher levels of pattern recognition, when transformed into consciously articulated models, can lead to a unified causal view of reality. Just like how someone can apply Darwin's individual and group selection models to multiple layers of the social system, from biology to a higher social order. Eventually, these unified models provide us with an arsenal to fast-track root cause analysis. Every experience cannot be a totally new learning opportunity; instead, it should simply be about classifying and integrating into a previously known pattern. This enables us to arrive at the same conclusion through multiple paths of reasoning and live up to Minsky's advice to 'learn it more than one way'.

Reading is a way to get exposed to new ideas, but as we can see, internalizing them requires reflection. Everyone has their own assumptions and beliefs – their own mental models, often with internal contradictions — developed through accidents of nature, nurture, and life experience. So, no matter how good the book is, new ideas need to always take root and evolve within our own mental context. They need to be progressively refined and adapted to fit within our own minds. Just like how a part needs to be chiseled and sculpted to fit into a larger machine. To get there — some prefer meditation, or just 'sleeping over it', but for restless minds it can be some activity — like rock climbing or hiking — or motorcycling.

Someone said, "You are never on a motorcycle; you are always a part of it." Riding forces us to be outside the cage, vehicular and metaphorical, both. At 70mph, reflexes related neural layers are dedicated to sensing impending dangers, while higher levels of cognition are reserved for refining mental models with a picturesque backdrop of passing landscapes. In that sense, when you are a totally different entity, different ways of connecting, interpreting, and unifying ideas simply emerge. So, the scientific excuse for motorcycling would be to live up to Minsky's sage advice.

The early morning buzz of an engine, or that moment when riding from the garage onto the pavement, or that instant when tearing into a freeway ramp. From stillness to the rumbling promise of a 1200cc engine, from a boxed garage onto bustling downtown alleys, and from the constraints of 25-mph to 70-mph open landscapes. These are all glimpses of riding at the margins, at the margins of state transitions.

Taking a 40-mph curve at 60-mph is riding at the margins, but only until conquering the very same curve at 80-mph. We automatically strive to raise that benchmark because it's that feeling at the margins that matters – being at the limits of skill and adrenaline. What we seek is evolution — to that new state. An innate biological instinct – constantly forcing us to adapt.

The pursuit itself is universal — whether it's at the margins of riding or simple pleasure seeking. We seek that feeling – the one which a first sip of whisky provides at the end of a long day, or that first serving of frozen custard on a summer afternoon, or that satisfaction of solving a new problem at work. In this case, at the margins of relative novelty. The feeling that a new state of satisfaction has been unlocked.

The constant pursuit of being at the margins is visible across all human endeavors. We were probably happy with the library until we had ebooks and Wikipedia; now we are only happy with augmented reality. We found happiness with no internet, but now we are unhappy with the internet speeds. All these actions and pursuits will eventually manifest at a higher level – shaping political, organizational, and familial institutions.

Once we were content with Magna Carta and then the Bill of Rights, until we had a chance with the modern democratic republic. But, as expected, we are no longer satisfied with these unprecedented institutional freedoms. We are not satisfied with mere liberties enabling us to freely pursue our material goals. But instead, we want to be at the margins where education, healthcare, transportation, etc are universal. Even if we managed to achieve it, we would continue to raise the bar. Not because we aren't inherently grateful, but just because that's an instinctive direction. This evolution applies to higher-level social institutions too, including private organizations. Once, just having a paycheck was the norm, but now there are added perks like company shares and healthcare. Familial roles used to be well-defined, but they have evolved to be more fluid, enabling better alignment with shifting social and economic changes. At every level — from mind to social institutions — adaptive mutations happen right at the margins — driver of the growth because that's where we feel the most alive.

Years ago, an engineering schoolmate brought up the topic of life goals. My response was immediate — "owning a wall of music CDs and a high-displacement motorcycle". His reaction was even quicker — "that's it?" — and it wasn't exactly devoid of a patronizing tone. That was indeed my objective at that time. Later, I realized the wall of music and motorcycle wasn't the literal goal – it was symbolic of a more ambitious exploration.

People tend toward one of two orientations: those with specific agendas and those with abstract motivations. Specific goals can be anything, but they are measurable and well-defined – like retiring by the age of 45, or making 200 million dollars, or filing 20 patents, etc. Abstract goals are less defined and more subjective — for example, pursuing an interesting career or seeking knowledge.

Meticulously working towards some objective requires long-term planning and calculated trade-offs. These goals can often conflict with abstract goals, especially in the long run. For instance, you cannot expect to be a millionaire or retire by 45 if you are only going to take "interesting" jobs. Since abstract pursuits prioritize discovering the path, the destination itself becomes secondary. Such expansion of the boundaries requires identifying the current margins and pushing beyond them. Specific goals operate within a defined space, while abstract goals will expand it.

A general approach to life tends to reflect across domains. So, whether it's discovering music or exploring the great outdoors on a motorcycle, these can be approached as destination-driven or exploration-driven. For example, instead of targeting sub-genres, it can be about discovering broad qualities like rich layering, structural progression, and dynamics of influences. Similarly, riding can also vary from destination-driven to exploration-driven. It could be about discovering the diverse terrains — experiencing landscapes spanning altitudes and micro-climates.

Without targeting destinations, motorcycling could just be about looking at a map to identify winding roads. This often leads to unexpected unpaved miles, rustic routes cutting through state parks or bordering the coast or high-altitude lakes. You will inevitably get a bit lost or run into restricted access roads or run low on fuel. It will involve long stretches of solitude — until you cross paths with another solo rider traveling the same path, coming from the opposite direction. In short, the journey never goes according to plan, but there is no plan when exploration itself is the goal. In hindsight, the wall of music and high-displacement engine represented a depth of exploration far more demanding than it originally conveyed.

Cognition evolves at the margins, through exposure to uncertainty and challenge. It grows through the application of best-fit mental models, which are then calibrated through feedback loops. From simple associations of red with danger to complex off-road judgment calls — layered models with reusable cognitive functions are applied and refined. This mental evolution, driven by lived experiences, leads to a deeply subjective cognitive signature. Every individual develops their own mental models, which adapt over time and influence their broader life trajectories.

An unexpected situational behavior implies that the individual is also employing an unexpected mental model. The root cause is the incompatibility between the cognitive signature and the situational setting — group operating rules tend to shape this dynamic. So, the mind's constant learning and adaptation require the surrounding rules and situational incentives to adapt as well; only then do the group outcomes evolve as expected.

Within groups, individual diversity can be a strength or a source of disharmony, depending on how complementary the engaged cognitive models are. Compatible operating rules lead to favorable dynamics, while incompatibility leads to friction and disrupted coordination. So, if the overall group misbehaves, then it's essential to analyze the participants and the operating rules they are subjected to. Together they make the whole more than the sum of its parts. These dynamics are explored in 'Rider and the Group Dynamics'.