Insanity?
The weather channel tells me that the air temp is -1. Best not to think about the wind chill. Its six thirty A.M. on a Tuesday and I’m going to ride a bike.
Face mask? Check. Heavy gloves? Check. Old Trek mountain bike? Check. Brain? I guess the jury is still out on that one.
I leave the somewhat warm shelter of the garage, and the cold hits me like a invisible chainsaw. I can see the snow blowing across our street. My neighbor's car is sitting in her driveway, warming up while she sits inside and drinks another cup of coffee. I can hear the car's radio over the howling wind.
What in the world am I doing? My co-workers are right, I am nuts. I should have found a way to keep that truck. But we needed the money, and I can still make it to work with my bike. Sounds perfectly normal right? So why does everybody think I've lost my mind? The comments and questions come back to me;
"Your gonna get run over!"
"I can't believe you don't freeze before you get here!"
"How do you see where you are going? One pothole, and you are going to go over the handle bars!"
They have no idea.
Black ice.
Tossed beer bottles.
Sleepy drivers.
Garbage trucks.
Rusty nails.
Snow plows.
Ending up on the hood of a Buick piloted by a old lady.
These are the things fill my bad dreams. The fact that all of them are all to real does not make me look forward to mornings like this.
Everything that is still normal in my head tell me to go back inside and go back to bed.
Bills to be paid.
Food to be put on the table.
I switch on my Fred issue flashing vest, lock down my helmet and off I go for my four and half mile ride to work.
The first mile is always the worst. Lets see if I can make it the first set of railroad tracks. The wind claws at me like something out of Beowulf. Wisps of snow come off the tires. Cars roar by, some blowing the horn. At least I can't hear them cursing at me with the windows rolled up.
First set of tracks go under the frame. I'm still upright, and alive. The day is looking up. Traffic thins out, and I pick up the pace, mostly to get the blood pumping. But that blood has to come from somewhere, and my hands go numb about the 2 mile mark. No problem, as I know the blood will come back in about another half mile. But it sure does sting.
No ipod to keep me company, so I think of a song in my mind to help me forget that I’m doing something most people would find quite mad.
“I am life’s Flame. Respect my name, my fire is red, my heart is gold. Thy dreams can be, believe in me, if you but let my wings unfold!”
The song helps me pass mile three.
County road. No traffic. No street lights. A rabbit runs along side me, till it takes a hard right turn into the brambles. The moon comes out from behind the clouds, and I can see just fine without a light. Few sounds come to my ears on this part of my ride.
Tires on wet payment, turning to a crunching sound as I hit drifts of snow.
A far off train sounds its whistle.
My own breathing.
What's this? A deer in the road. She sees me coming, but just stands in the middle of road looking at me, trying to figure out what I am. I end the standoff by breaking the silence;
"Please move sweetheart, I'm trying to go to work."
The deer bounds back into the woods, and I coast for a few yards to watch her run.
Back to it. Only about a mile to go.
I can feel my hands again, but my feet are getting mighty chilly.
I pass a fast-food joint. Cars are lined up at the drive-thru.
Hot coffee.
Danish.
I bet they would have never seen the deer, nor thanked the moon for lighting the way. I feel sorry for the people trapped in the shiny money pits. Only a half mile to go.
Pull into work, where at least they let me park inside. The questions fly;
"You rode in this?"
"Don't you know how cold it is outside?"
"Are you nuts man?"
"Do you want some coffee?"
Yes.
To it all.
By Peter Lezard
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