Night Rider

OK, I have a Niterider headlight on my commuter. For some reason I always think of that horrific TV show, although in hindsight, it is probably Hasselhoff's finest effort. Anyway, I just biked home from the bar after class. It is only seven miles from the Black Forest to home, a bit south of Lake Harriet. Or maybe it is less. I don't have a computer on that bike. Only one vehicle passed me during the trip. The solitude is unlike any other time of the day. Tonight the flight paths from the airport were overhead across southwest.

I am intrigued by the juxtaposition. Earlier I dropped my parents off at the airport at the ungodly hour of 5:30am. Friday, we will also be flying to Alaska to join them. I love the extremes. In a perfect world there might only be planes and bikes. Nothing in between.

I rode to class in light rain tonight. I made the choice to ride in the rain. I don't know why I focus on the aspect of "choice" other than I'd guess that others likely bring certain assumptions when watching a grown man biking in the rain. When I arrived at class, I was welcomed by the sight on a classmate's bike already locked up outside. I'm not the only crazy one tonight. I could only hope the rain would end before class ended.

I rode the Cadillac bike- black lacquer and full fenders and lights. It weighs a ton, but is pure comfort. It's origin remains a mystery. I changed clothes at class. Afterwards it had stopped raining and I rode to the bar in "civilian clothing." It reminded me of commuters in Paris or Amsterdam. In fact, it was not that unusual to see people wearing jeans riding high end road bikes in the city. The US seems to be stuck on the idea of bikes as recreation- not transportation.

I won't pretend otherwise, but using a bike as transportation has required me to unlearn every aesthetic I've ever developed as a road biker. It is, however, a mode of transportation without equal. Even if it is only seven miles home. How else can I become intimate with the subtle glow of floating cottonwood seeds drifting through my headlight? These nuances are lost while driving a car. Or smelling blooming lilacs? While I detest them on the grounds of allergens alone, they remind me that I am outdoors, under a clear night's sky.

I met two other bikers riding the opposite direction. We stealthily pass, me riding silently fixed, appearing as a ghostly apparition- a light floating in mid-air. Are we living as though the apocalypse were now? Playing our role in some form of urban anarchy? No. The symbolism is not nearly so complicated. Biking is merely a great form of transportation. And the side effects are not so bad, either.