Night Flight

Riding back to Fletcher's house last Sunday night, I noticed a new sensation of relaxation and tugging comfort begin forming as I picked up speed on my blue and black radical road rocket. While wearing a full-faced helmet, the only air I feel on my mug is from a small vent that lets wind flow smoothly through and keeps the visor from fogging, but that night was different. For the first time, my beard reached out from under the protection of padding and plastic to ride free and experience the 75 mph wind resistance to live on the edge. He struggled to reach out of his bunker, outstretching the longest of his feelers to allow whiskers to be whisked Mr. Beard reached a new level of living, of experience, of wisdom. A constant pull and release vibration on my chin. Tickle fancy; drug of simplicity.

I enjoy noticing the simple things. The beauty that surrounds our frequently numbed and unaware eyes would reach us if only we could give it due time in the conscious. Being on two wheels at night helps me with that; both motor and pedal style. The fresh and exhilarating autumn night air blesses faces and brings alive the keen olfactory sensors, bringing me into a middle ground of dream and reality, an ethereally esoteric ride of a fine line that keeps me present enough to see deer passing in front yet takes me into a restful sphere of prayer. I thank God. Credit God for the creation of beauty, and our ability to be enveloped in it.

On my pedal-produced passage on Monday night to the Advanced Auto Parts about 8.21 miles away, I passed a lady with a huge “dog.” She stood to the side as I passed on the other side of the sidewalk holding her beast, whose head is the size of a large angry watermelon. The dawg pulled, standing on its back legs swiping the air with its petrifying claws and gnashing, drool-spilling jowls. The fur was short, sleek, variations of dark grey as if designed to be a stealthy suburban stalker. I pedaled faster and thanked God for the woman’s powerful grip on the leash.

The trip was for 10-40 motorcycle oil because the place in Lawrence had accidentally thrown in some 20-50 with the other two 10-40s. I called to be sure this one carried it too. Indeed. Then when stepping down from my steed I inquired and waited. He couldn’t find any 10-40. It didn’t matter much to me, the bike ride was so fulfilling. I asked another guy just to be sure. He couldn’t find it either, then he asked the manager who found it in about 2-seconds. Persistence rewards. Back to the night flight, half expecting to lift from the pavement and glide through the canopies of suburbia all the way “home”.