Flying Blind

On the commute: Evening Edition.

Surprisingly, being at work isn’t the cure for the common cold. That shitty feeling never quite left me. The clock strikes 5:30. Time to find a telephone booth and suit up. For as long as I’ve loved to ride, my spirits have always been lifted right after that first pedal stroke. Spirit’s doing all right, it kind of wills the body to feel the same. Their relationship is complicated, but it works for them which in turn means it works for me.

I step out the door. Rear light blinking? Check. Garmin on? Check. Headlight? No dice. Apparently I burned through another bulb. I hate when that happens. Riding without front lights completely changes the way I approach my route. No chances. Now I know they don’t see me. Before it was a 50/50 proposition, but now the goal is to ride steady, and to take the decision out of the hands of the driver. Makes for a rather elementary ride. This is probably the way I should always ride honestly. On certain unlit stretches of my route, I use the white line as a my shepherd and the fact that I know the roads fairly well. It’s still a strange sensation to pedal into darkness. Feels exactly like the thing not to do. Keep the wheels straight and the cadence steady. Mush!

I’m spinning up a storm, because I just wanna go home. I tried clicking my heels together, but that shit only works in the movies. I get into a rhythm. Tap it out. I decide to leave the gears at 42×20. My gloves are blocking the wind well, but are a little challenged in the dexterity department. I get to the 8 mile point. I can practically hear my kids screaming. I can fumble through the gears to 53×17 pop behind a slow moving herd of cars and hammer or just consider myself lucky for having made it this far blind. I maintained my cruising altitude and brought it on home.

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