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08-08-04, 10:03 AM
It was a fantastic night last night. The weather, wind and stars were in concert, just cool enough to not be drenched in the first few pedal strokes, warm enough to not need more than shorts and a jersey. I had putzed around at work talking with the night shift before getting on the bike and heading home early this morning (read: 1am). Having today off, and a waning moon to ride under I set off, agreeing with the voices in my head that I could add my 10 mile loop, if I wasn't hurting when I got to that intersection of road and path.
The intersection came and went, I was feeling charged, I was on a fixed gear I'd cobbled together, a French made Motobecane that I discovered wouldn't allow me to uprgrade much of anything as it was old school, pre standardization of the bike industry. My legs felt great, and my HRM beeping had been fluctuating between silence and the low end of my zone. Into the inky morning I rode.
I encountered a few oddities. A pod of 10 cyclists, in a variety of shapes, sizes and bikes, came at me through the inky night, some had lights, they didn't seem to be cruising very fast or safely.
Then I came up on a guy riding a MTB while dragging an old 10 speed beside him. Figured him to be a rogue, or juvenile who hadn't found acceptance in a pod. I wondered where the riderless bike had come from, if there was fellow rider that was going to wake up in the ditch, or find his ride had been spirited away in the night.
Finally, a small pod of courting cyclists came out of the inky magic of early morning, flashing a light at me to let me know they were there, offering a drunken "Beep-beep." I slowed to allow them to pass so I could turn, instead they turned and I found myself in their midst, frustrated by their lack of uniformity, speed, and etiquette. The female of the pod kept riding to the left as I tried to pass. I don't think she even heard me when I said I was on her left she just kept drifting.
It was a strange night, I suppose it was the hour, and how enticing the night was for a bike ride, I am sure each of those encounters was as bewildering as mine was, "I know what I'm doing out here, What the heck are you doing out here?"
The bike path section of the ride home was behind me. I faced the final 12 miles of my commute through downtown Minneapolis after bar closing. What is it about alcohol that makes us so smart? Is it its lowering of inhibitions so we do dumb stuff? Blurt out inane comments? Feel it is appropriate to comment on my ass in lycra cruising through the concrete canyons? Patrons of the local gay bar were parading down the street as our paths crossed I heard sighs, gasps, and a "Mmm, that's yummy." At a corner on Nicolete Mall there was a loud boistrous heralding of b-bombs, f-n-himers, that escalated to the "C" word. "Don't make me come over there and slap you!" One of the ladies offered. "Oh, yeah, well come on *******, let's see what you got *****." A "hey will you two knock it off." from a boyfriend seemed to end the discussion, but I was too far to know the final out come.
Damn lights and bar traffic, I couldn't run the light and track stood waiting as a pack of four males and a female careened up the street towards me. "Hi mister biker guy." "Shh." "Don't shh me. Hey Mr Biker guy, you got a nice butt!" "Thank you I replied and rode off into the early morning.
Somewhere in the back of my head I thought of vampires, and ghouls wandering the streets of Minneapolis. Damn, where did I put that garlic.
A right turn, a left turn and I was in the hood, and tonight it was looking pretty busy. "What's a white guy dressed in slacks and a dress shirt doing standing on that corner?" Like I had to ask. At the next block: "Hey bike dude, you straight?" I pedaled homeward. I passed a two guys sacked out on a bus bench, one looked like he'd have a major sore neck when he woke, his mouth was open to the sky, the other was listing to the side, not quite off balance enough to stretchout the full measure of the the bench.
Right turn, residential. I looked at the dark homes, wondering what would be going on in them. Down to the last five miles, cross the old muddy Missip, climb the hill and home.
In all a little under 2 hours, 30+ miles, and a crust of crystaline sweat. Mmm, that's a commute.
The intersection came and went, I was feeling charged, I was on a fixed gear I'd cobbled together, a French made Motobecane that I discovered wouldn't allow me to uprgrade much of anything as it was old school, pre standardization of the bike industry. My legs felt great, and my HRM beeping had been fluctuating between silence and the low end of my zone. Into the inky morning I rode.
I encountered a few oddities. A pod of 10 cyclists, in a variety of shapes, sizes and bikes, came at me through the inky night, some had lights, they didn't seem to be cruising very fast or safely.
Then I came up on a guy riding a MTB while dragging an old 10 speed beside him. Figured him to be a rogue, or juvenile who hadn't found acceptance in a pod. I wondered where the riderless bike had come from, if there was fellow rider that was going to wake up in the ditch, or find his ride had been spirited away in the night.
Finally, a small pod of courting cyclists came out of the inky magic of early morning, flashing a light at me to let me know they were there, offering a drunken "Beep-beep." I slowed to allow them to pass so I could turn, instead they turned and I found myself in their midst, frustrated by their lack of uniformity, speed, and etiquette. The female of the pod kept riding to the left as I tried to pass. I don't think she even heard me when I said I was on her left she just kept drifting.
It was a strange night, I suppose it was the hour, and how enticing the night was for a bike ride, I am sure each of those encounters was as bewildering as mine was, "I know what I'm doing out here, What the heck are you doing out here?"
The bike path section of the ride home was behind me. I faced the final 12 miles of my commute through downtown Minneapolis after bar closing. What is it about alcohol that makes us so smart? Is it its lowering of inhibitions so we do dumb stuff? Blurt out inane comments? Feel it is appropriate to comment on my ass in lycra cruising through the concrete canyons? Patrons of the local gay bar were parading down the street as our paths crossed I heard sighs, gasps, and a "Mmm, that's yummy." At a corner on Nicolete Mall there was a loud boistrous heralding of b-bombs, f-n-himers, that escalated to the "C" word. "Don't make me come over there and slap you!" One of the ladies offered. "Oh, yeah, well come on *******, let's see what you got *****." A "hey will you two knock it off." from a boyfriend seemed to end the discussion, but I was too far to know the final out come.
Damn lights and bar traffic, I couldn't run the light and track stood waiting as a pack of four males and a female careened up the street towards me. "Hi mister biker guy." "Shh." "Don't shh me. Hey Mr Biker guy, you got a nice butt!" "Thank you I replied and rode off into the early morning.
Somewhere in the back of my head I thought of vampires, and ghouls wandering the streets of Minneapolis. Damn, where did I put that garlic.
A right turn, a left turn and I was in the hood, and tonight it was looking pretty busy. "What's a white guy dressed in slacks and a dress shirt doing standing on that corner?" Like I had to ask. At the next block: "Hey bike dude, you straight?" I pedaled homeward. I passed a two guys sacked out on a bus bench, one looked like he'd have a major sore neck when he woke, his mouth was open to the sky, the other was listing to the side, not quite off balance enough to stretchout the full measure of the the bench.
Right turn, residential. I looked at the dark homes, wondering what would be going on in them. Down to the last five miles, cross the old muddy Missip, climb the hill and home.
In all a little under 2 hours, 30+ miles, and a crust of crystaline sweat. Mmm, that's a commute.