For no particular reason I was especially excited to ride in today. Perhaps the departure of the recent snows in combination with the dry forecast gave me reason to be optimistic. Perhaps it was my ascension of the bicycle commuting learning curve that has allowed me to skip the apprehension that sometimes accompanies my rides in the darkness. Let’s just assume I can’t explain my reasons and get on with my most recent observations.
After assembling and packing my lunch I closed the pannier and made my way to the garage. The usual last minute fiddling was minimal and soon I was on my way. My quiet street is even quieter before six in the morning. As I began climbing Vuelta hill in the stillness I look around. The only sounds are my breathing and an occasional creak as my pannier and its contents settle in for the ride to work. The steep grade of the hill and my cold legs force me to traverse as I go up. I count my zigs; nine today. As the grade finally lessens, I look around. I have not seen another car, or a single person and it feels a little Twilight Zone-ish. There isn’t even a breeze and I take in my surroundings as if I am the only person in the world. I see lights coming from windows that, based on the window’s size and opaqueness, I assume to be bathroom windows. I don’t see any movement, but I assume there is life on the other side of those windows. Others are starting their days with hot water, while my hot water is still fifteen miles away.
As I continue my ride, there are amazingly few cars on my route. Were it not so, I would have to really evaluate the viability of commuting by bike. With no traffic and wide neighborhood streets all to myself, I can’t help but relax and look around. In January, just riding gets me training points, so I’m not worried about my speed. I finally see people. Some are watching morning TV, some are seated at computers, and some are leaving their houses headed toward their cars. After crossing over I-5 unseen on a pedestrian bridge, I am on another quiet street. As the road winds uphill, I can see curtains parted and I catch occasional glimpses into living rooms.
When asked what super hero power people would like to have, being invisible often makes the list. If you want to feel invisible, just hop on a bike and despite your valiant attempts to light yourself up like Robert Redford’s character in the movie The Electric Horseman, you will still be pretty stealth. I don’t know if these people mind, or even care that I can see them. The fact is I do see them, and they don’t know that I see them. That makes me feel kind of weird. It isn’t like I’m trying to catch a glimpse of I don’t-want-to-know what. I’m just out there passing by and it is dark, and since there isn’t much else to look at, if there is something that is illuminated, it will catch my eye, and I might feel weird about it.
Soon I am on the Burke Gilman trail. Just like the Interurban trail between Lynnwood and Everett, where you are next to the freeway, fifty feet from tens of thousands of people who don’t see you; here too you are invisible to those in cars who are travelling parallel to you. The trail is dark and where it is sheltered from the lights of the cars you have to strain to avoid potholes and tree root “speed bumps.” It seems strange to take a route that is so lightly travelled, while the road you can almost spit on is jammed with morning traffic.
The bike trail through the UW Bothell campus seems to always be foggy and ten degrees colder than everywhere else. Nearly every time I see the fog here I begin to hear Warren Zevon’s “Werewolves of London” in my head.
As I make my way along the “Tweed Path,” so named by me (in my warped, but ever entertaining mind) because it is a meandering multiuse trail that is part paved and part dirt and I keep expecting to see a gentleman riding a Penny-Farthing in a tweed suit with a straw hat coming the other way. The curves of the trail, the surface itself, the foot traffic and the occasional scurrying creature prevent you from going very fast, but that just adds to the attraction.
This time of year it is still dark even though I am nearly to the end of my journey. The chill from the Werewolf zone has made me keen for the hot shower that is moments away. Now I am passing offices and again I see people who don’t see me. I am pretty sure they don’t care though. Besides, work is much more of a public place than their kitchens and living rooms.
The evening commute starts at twilight and gradually the sky fades to an inky black. There is a cold breeze and the hustle of the evening drivers means the return trip is not as tranquil as my morning journey. I find I am stronger on the hills and for lack of a better reason; I attribute it to increased core strengthening and leg weight training. While I am deliberately trying not to challenge myself and max my heart rate during this phase of the non season, I am pretty pleased with my new found power.
After assembling and packing my lunch I closed the pannier and made my way to the garage. The usual last minute fiddling was minimal and soon I was on my way. My quiet street is even quieter before six in the morning. As I began climbing Vuelta hill in the stillness I look around. The only sounds are my breathing and an occasional creak as my pannier and its contents settle in for the ride to work. The steep grade of the hill and my cold legs force me to traverse as I go up. I count my zigs; nine today. As the grade finally lessens, I look around. I have not seen another car, or a single person and it feels a little Twilight Zone-ish. There isn’t even a breeze and I take in my surroundings as if I am the only person in the world. I see lights coming from windows that, based on the window’s size and opaqueness, I assume to be bathroom windows. I don’t see any movement, but I assume there is life on the other side of those windows. Others are starting their days with hot water, while my hot water is still fifteen miles away.
As I continue my ride, there are amazingly few cars on my route. Were it not so, I would have to really evaluate the viability of commuting by bike. With no traffic and wide neighborhood streets all to myself, I can’t help but relax and look around. In January, just riding gets me training points, so I’m not worried about my speed. I finally see people. Some are watching morning TV, some are seated at computers, and some are leaving their houses headed toward their cars. After crossing over I-5 unseen on a pedestrian bridge, I am on another quiet street. As the road winds uphill, I can see curtains parted and I catch occasional glimpses into living rooms.
When asked what super hero power people would like to have, being invisible often makes the list. If you want to feel invisible, just hop on a bike and despite your valiant attempts to light yourself up like Robert Redford’s character in the movie The Electric Horseman, you will still be pretty stealth. I don’t know if these people mind, or even care that I can see them. The fact is I do see them, and they don’t know that I see them. That makes me feel kind of weird. It isn’t like I’m trying to catch a glimpse of I don’t-want-to-know what. I’m just out there passing by and it is dark, and since there isn’t much else to look at, if there is something that is illuminated, it will catch my eye, and I might feel weird about it.
Soon I am on the Burke Gilman trail. Just like the Interurban trail between Lynnwood and Everett, where you are next to the freeway, fifty feet from tens of thousands of people who don’t see you; here too you are invisible to those in cars who are travelling parallel to you. The trail is dark and where it is sheltered from the lights of the cars you have to strain to avoid potholes and tree root “speed bumps.” It seems strange to take a route that is so lightly travelled, while the road you can almost spit on is jammed with morning traffic.
The bike trail through the UW Bothell campus seems to always be foggy and ten degrees colder than everywhere else. Nearly every time I see the fog here I begin to hear Warren Zevon’s “Werewolves of London” in my head.
As I make my way along the “Tweed Path,” so named by me (in my warped, but ever entertaining mind) because it is a meandering multiuse trail that is part paved and part dirt and I keep expecting to see a gentleman riding a Penny-Farthing in a tweed suit with a straw hat coming the other way. The curves of the trail, the surface itself, the foot traffic and the occasional scurrying creature prevent you from going very fast, but that just adds to the attraction.
This time of year it is still dark even though I am nearly to the end of my journey. The chill from the Werewolf zone has made me keen for the hot shower that is moments away. Now I am passing offices and again I see people who don’t see me. I am pretty sure they don’t care though. Besides, work is much more of a public place than their kitchens and living rooms.
The evening commute starts at twilight and gradually the sky fades to an inky black. There is a cold breeze and the hustle of the evening drivers means the return trip is not as tranquil as my morning journey. I find I am stronger on the hills and for lack of a better reason; I attribute it to increased core strengthening and leg weight training. While I am deliberately trying not to challenge myself and max my heart rate during this phase of the non season, I am pretty pleased with my new found power.
Tidak ada komentar:
Posting Komentar