When I was a teenager I was full of all the angst and longing and binary sunsets one would expect, and one outlet I had for the abundance of energy these feelings would generate was cycling. I’d put Nirvana’s “Nevermind” in my cassette walkman, and I’d pedal the streets of my small town after dark. There was something sacred about it, more than just exercise. Something I’ve been rekindling lately in my world of ever diminishing meaning and connection.
I am very much a junkie for the feeling of flying through time and space at high speeds unencumbered by vehicle walls. My recent obsession with putting oversized motors on undersized open bow john boats can attest to this. On a bicycle, at night, through the hills of the town I’ve called home for nearly 20 years, I fly and weave. I take in every doorstep I pass. Every lit window. The atmosphere of every home, and business.
It carries a feeling I know well in my daily life. That sense of no-clipping outside of reality; everything easy to browse, right at my fingertips- yet impossible to enter and interact with. Many of the homes I pass are people I know, people on normal circumstances I would be walking up to the door as an expected guest– but such things are not so as we fly by in the dark with only time for a quick glance and a single memory before it’s passed.