We Ride At Dawn (or Physics Is A Harsh Mistress)

For me, today is yesterday.

Not that I’m listening to Culture Beat as though it’s current, tuning my TV with rabbit ears, and wearing corduroy pants in a non-ironic way (or, indeed, in any way. You can keep ‘em, hipsters). I mean literally, it’s still yesterday for me. I’ve not yet been to bed.

Last night a buddy of mine popped ’round. Because he’s a molecular biologist and I’m a nerd, we talked about things like free-forming infinite length carbon nanotubes and a screenplay idea for a post-apocalyptic future brought about not by war or famine, but by-

Ah, I’m getting off topic. The point is, though he politely left at half past the witching hour by 6am I was still up jotting notes for the screenplay, my mind going a mile a minute. When my creativity (or verbal vomit depending on one’s opinion of my writing) was exhausted, my body wasn’t. I decided to go for a bike ride.

The theory, dear reader, was one that held true during my time in uniform; we’d do a little PT before bed and we’d fall right asleep once we got to our bunks. Of course, long days in the military were more physically tiring than sitting for hours thinking up plot arcs, but the principle was roughly the same.

I got out my trusty two wheeled …steed? Nah, that’s cheesier than a poutine pizza. I really ought to hold a “name my bike” contest one of these days. But I got out my bike, hopped on it, and started to pedal.

I figured my 15.6 km route would do the trick, so I zipped into traffic, crossing the river and pedaled south to the city’s water treatment plant (far more scenic than it sounds), then backtracked, riding north in a loop around the river park.

The dawn light was deceptive; it felt like mid morning, yet there was practically no one around. The few people I did pass exchanged polite smiles with me – the world was calm, virtually empty, and all ours to share.

I pedaled furiously through unpopulated stretches, my bike voraciously devouring paths along which I usually have to slowly navigate around pedestrians.

It was exhilarating.

All too soon I arrived home. Not wanting it to end I cruised aimlessly around a few neighboring blocks, dawdling as a child might, before pulling up in front of my house. Tired? Nope. Ready to go inside? Nope. This was just to damned fun. Let’s go again! I goaded myself – and so I did. Not the best idea I’ve ever had, as it would turn out…

(more after the pic)

Daybreak in the zombiepocalypse river park. The north leg of the second lap would be more... interesting.

As I approached the bridge for a second time, traffic on the road had picked up; morning commuters were making their way into the downtown core. Instead of taking the road, with no shoulder for cyclists just two lanes of SUVs in each direction, I elected to take the empty sidewalk (a common practice on Broadway Bridge in my town)

Since I was heading downhill with no one in front of me I decided to have a little fun. I shifted my grip to the front handlebars, leaning my body almost flat, and tucking in my elbows. Gravity did the rest. I zipped down the bridge, accelerating until I was almost keeping up with the traffic next to me. A bird soared above the river beside me, it’s outstretched wings just a meter or so on the other side of the railing as it paced me. Neat.

Then it was time to ease on the brakes, as there be curves ahead.

So there I was, cruising around the river for a second lap. The sun was now up, a local TV station was sending their hot air balloon for a morning flight, wide-eyed chipmunks dashed to get out of my way along the trail and, if Disney has taught me anything, shook their fists furiously at my back as I rode off.

Down the other side of the river now. It’s cooling for autumn now, but though I was in a T-shirt I didn’t feel cold. They’d mowed along either side of the trail, that fresh smell of chlorophyll bleeding from wounded grass filling my nose as I admired the sparking river, the blue sky, the jogger approaching me…

Hullo, nurse. How did that old coffee commercial go? “So fresh. So firm. So fully packed.” I did a mental wolf-whistle while keeping eyes-front. As my father once told me “the difference between admiring and ogling: peripheral vision”.

Still, it was a lovely sight. The jiggle in all the right places, and nothing more, that angelic face flushed with the exertion of a morning run, the – you know, I really should be paying attention to my riding. Especially with that sharp curve ahead. What sharp curve? That one, just there, at the bottom of this hill which is now very close and with that patch of mud just around the bend and thereitisandnotractionand…

Hi, wooded area at the side of the road. How are you? Good, good. Glad to hear it. Um… would you mind if I cut our visit short and got up now? Laying on my back on top of my own bicycle, and in your embrace, isn’t particularly comfortable. In fact it’s rather dirty and scratchy. And this other cyclist who has stopped is looking down at me with a rather distressing frown of concern. At least I hope that’s concern.

Hey look, I’ve torn my trousers. And the skin on my right arm. Ah, I’ll walk it off. Or ride it off, as the case may be.

After reassuring the bystanders that I was fine, and being glad I chose to put on my helmet that morning, I picked up my bike and the remains of my dignity and rode on. A kilometer later I stopped, turned around, and rode back for my cellphone which I’d apparently left behind. Then rode on, take II.

I arrived home again, my pride and body slightly battered but nothing that won’t heal. Somewhere along the way my arm stopped leaking. It doesn’t look like anything serious. In fact, in hindsight it’s kinda funny.

I’m picturing this from the perspective of the cyclist behind me. Or even from that of the jogger. Slightly chubby cyclist puffing along, passes jogger, gets distracted and kerPOW! Right into the woods.

Maybe you had to be there.

I’m going to bed.