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05-20-04, 12:11 AM
As I stepped into the night, the air was heavy with the afternoon’s rain and the fog rose from the street like ghosts attempting escape from the earth that cradled their mortal remains. It was an early summer’s night that was not so different than so many others I’d had in the past years. Just another night in which I focused the day’s problems into the spin of the pedals and the gentle hum of the earth as it passed underneath my tires.
Often I enjoyed the night rides more than those that I had during the day. The night is calm and peaceful, not like the daytime. At night, the anxious motorists and the angry truckers have been relegated to their predigested, televised vision of utopia, leaving me to roam the streets and explore this world relatively uninterrupted.
Happy with the night and with the smell of the air I grabbed my bag threw it over my shoulder and mounted up. Gently spinning the machine up to cruising speed, I marveled at the almost imperceptible whirr of the chain as it glided effortlessly over the one cog. The bike wasn’t flashy; most people would look at it and wonder why anybody would want to spend their time on such a primitive beast. No suspension, no gears, no freewheel, no brakes and most importantly, no slacking. She was as fickle as she was beautiful; at least to me she was beautiful. Slender and strong, without all the cables and knobs and whiz-bangs of all the new bikes, nope not her, her lines were clean. Only a few years younger than me, she was destined for the trash heap when I found her and brought her back to life. For that she’s always been good to me. That’s not to say she won’t throw my ass on the ground if my attention lapses. Fixed gears do that from time to time you know.
Spinning through the neighborhood that I grew up in I left the night behind unchanged from the way it was before my passing. Only rarely when the odd motorist passed would I flash my lights to make them aware of my presence. Most of the time I was running dark and silent, trusting my lines to the memories born in my youth.
The neighborhood had changed. Some houses were run down and there was a highway where the woods were that we played in as children, but the streets were for the most part the same. The speed came easily and my heart rate and respiration rose to greet it with open arms, as if they were old friends. Swiftly I cut through the night surprising a couple of wayward teenagers smoking pot under a streetlight. At twenty miles per hour I pass through the cone of light emitted by the streetlight and am visible to the smokers for a mere second before I disappear into the haze like the smoke they are so intent upon. I hear a snicker as I fly away but am unaffected. I have more important things to do than to educate them.
As I pass through the night, my thoughts return to the destination that lay before me. I was going to pay the Hill a visit. When I was younger this was the hill of hills. It inspired fear among all of us. We would start at the top and bomb it, invariably getting speed wobbles and, if we were lucky, we would bail in the grass. I was not the only one the Hill has scarred. Tonight it was not my intention to bomb it. My goals had changed in the years since I had visited the Hill. It would not be a challenge to descend it anymore. Instead it was my intention to ascend…on my fixed gear.
In the moments before I arrived at the bottom the images in my mind worsened until I hardly had the confidence to even begin the ascent. Trusting myself to the hard learned lesson that sometimes success hurts and failure only comes to those who quit, I dove into the ascent. As my cadence slowed and I began to feel the acid burn I dropped my vision to the area immediately in front of the bike and told myself “You are not climbing a mountain, only the next ten feet.” Then as my body adapted to the rhythm of the hill I noticed that it was nowhere near the monster that I had imagined. I’ve climbed hills steeper and longer.
As I crested the hill I found that I was somewhat disappointed that the challenge was more in my mind than anywhere else. What had once been such a daunting challenge in my youth was no longer anything to worry about. Perhaps the neighborhood had changed more than I first realized. Or perhaps the change was in me. It then became apparent to me what I had overlooked earlier in the evening. The neighborhood seemed smaller. Since the last time I’d been there, I’ve traveled the world and lived in many other places and I’ve seen so many things. As with the other things in the neighborhood the hill seemed for the most part unchanged. It was different only in the respect that now that I have grown; it seemed to be smaller.
To the world all was the same tonight, I guess. As I have done so many times before I had left the night exactly as I had found it. Nobody will hear of my success tonight. The smokers under the streetlight will not congratulate me on my way home. The world will sleep soundly with infomercial dreams. But these people are not the audience that I would cater to. I have achieved exactly what I set about doing tonight. That was to prove to one little boy that if he tried, in his own life he could be a giant.
Often I enjoyed the night rides more than those that I had during the day. The night is calm and peaceful, not like the daytime. At night, the anxious motorists and the angry truckers have been relegated to their predigested, televised vision of utopia, leaving me to roam the streets and explore this world relatively uninterrupted.
Happy with the night and with the smell of the air I grabbed my bag threw it over my shoulder and mounted up. Gently spinning the machine up to cruising speed, I marveled at the almost imperceptible whirr of the chain as it glided effortlessly over the one cog. The bike wasn’t flashy; most people would look at it and wonder why anybody would want to spend their time on such a primitive beast. No suspension, no gears, no freewheel, no brakes and most importantly, no slacking. She was as fickle as she was beautiful; at least to me she was beautiful. Slender and strong, without all the cables and knobs and whiz-bangs of all the new bikes, nope not her, her lines were clean. Only a few years younger than me, she was destined for the trash heap when I found her and brought her back to life. For that she’s always been good to me. That’s not to say she won’t throw my ass on the ground if my attention lapses. Fixed gears do that from time to time you know.
Spinning through the neighborhood that I grew up in I left the night behind unchanged from the way it was before my passing. Only rarely when the odd motorist passed would I flash my lights to make them aware of my presence. Most of the time I was running dark and silent, trusting my lines to the memories born in my youth.
The neighborhood had changed. Some houses were run down and there was a highway where the woods were that we played in as children, but the streets were for the most part the same. The speed came easily and my heart rate and respiration rose to greet it with open arms, as if they were old friends. Swiftly I cut through the night surprising a couple of wayward teenagers smoking pot under a streetlight. At twenty miles per hour I pass through the cone of light emitted by the streetlight and am visible to the smokers for a mere second before I disappear into the haze like the smoke they are so intent upon. I hear a snicker as I fly away but am unaffected. I have more important things to do than to educate them.
As I pass through the night, my thoughts return to the destination that lay before me. I was going to pay the Hill a visit. When I was younger this was the hill of hills. It inspired fear among all of us. We would start at the top and bomb it, invariably getting speed wobbles and, if we were lucky, we would bail in the grass. I was not the only one the Hill has scarred. Tonight it was not my intention to bomb it. My goals had changed in the years since I had visited the Hill. It would not be a challenge to descend it anymore. Instead it was my intention to ascend…on my fixed gear.
In the moments before I arrived at the bottom the images in my mind worsened until I hardly had the confidence to even begin the ascent. Trusting myself to the hard learned lesson that sometimes success hurts and failure only comes to those who quit, I dove into the ascent. As my cadence slowed and I began to feel the acid burn I dropped my vision to the area immediately in front of the bike and told myself “You are not climbing a mountain, only the next ten feet.” Then as my body adapted to the rhythm of the hill I noticed that it was nowhere near the monster that I had imagined. I’ve climbed hills steeper and longer.
As I crested the hill I found that I was somewhat disappointed that the challenge was more in my mind than anywhere else. What had once been such a daunting challenge in my youth was no longer anything to worry about. Perhaps the neighborhood had changed more than I first realized. Or perhaps the change was in me. It then became apparent to me what I had overlooked earlier in the evening. The neighborhood seemed smaller. Since the last time I’d been there, I’ve traveled the world and lived in many other places and I’ve seen so many things. As with the other things in the neighborhood the hill seemed for the most part unchanged. It was different only in the respect that now that I have grown; it seemed to be smaller.
To the world all was the same tonight, I guess. As I have done so many times before I had left the night exactly as I had found it. Nobody will hear of my success tonight. The smokers under the streetlight will not congratulate me on my way home. The world will sleep soundly with infomercial dreams. But these people are not the audience that I would cater to. I have achieved exactly what I set about doing tonight. That was to prove to one little boy that if he tried, in his own life he could be a giant.