mountain by full moon
After much deliberation we suited up in warm winter clothes, collected bike lights and extra tubes and filled our water bottles. We were off for a full moon mountain bike ride. It was a perfect clear night, full of stars. Our breath was condensing in front of our noses. The moon craters were dancing in the cold air.
We were supposed to meet up with some folks from work. They were equipped with super power night riding lights and possibly a permit or some keys to unlock the gates. We checked two entrances to the park, and then guessed we would run into them somewhere on the trails. So we snuck our way into the park, passing our bikes over the fence one by one and then squeezing through the tiny crack between the fence posts. We never did see them.
Oh well, we thought, it is probably for the better. What is the point of a moonlight ride with bike lights anyhow? We had wimpy lights and planned to keep them turned off. Up we went into the hills crawling across long eerie shadows into the dark canyon and out again into the blue moonlight. The trees were cold, watching our slow progress up, closing in around us. It was creepy and frosty and quiet. It was lonely and wonderful. Our pupils were dilated, and our ears were propped for suspicious noises: skunks on the trail, mountain lions tracking us, psychos in the woods.
In the meadows up top we paused to admire our moon shadows, getting shorter as the moon crept through the stars and into the Milky Way. Continuing on, we turned the corner just in time to see as a giant streak of burning light brush across the southern sky. It hovered there, slowly fading after several seconds: asteroid dust hitting our atmosphere; our earth flying through the tail of a comet at some 66,700 mph (if you decide to exclude the speed at which we are rotating.)
The ride down was excruciating. The temperature continued to plummet as we flew back down into the canyons, along the creek and into the shadows again. The wind chilled me to the bone; the air froze my lungs as I tried to breath. My fingers refused to move, my face stood still while I tried to talk. My brain began to feel numb. I fell into survival mode. And though many people would wonder why I would find this enjoyable, I do. It makes me feel human.
We were supposed to meet up with some folks from work. They were equipped with super power night riding lights and possibly a permit or some keys to unlock the gates. We checked two entrances to the park, and then guessed we would run into them somewhere on the trails. So we snuck our way into the park, passing our bikes over the fence one by one and then squeezing through the tiny crack between the fence posts. We never did see them.
Oh well, we thought, it is probably for the better. What is the point of a moonlight ride with bike lights anyhow? We had wimpy lights and planned to keep them turned off. Up we went into the hills crawling across long eerie shadows into the dark canyon and out again into the blue moonlight. The trees were cold, watching our slow progress up, closing in around us. It was creepy and frosty and quiet. It was lonely and wonderful. Our pupils were dilated, and our ears were propped for suspicious noises: skunks on the trail, mountain lions tracking us, psychos in the woods.
In the meadows up top we paused to admire our moon shadows, getting shorter as the moon crept through the stars and into the Milky Way. Continuing on, we turned the corner just in time to see as a giant streak of burning light brush across the southern sky. It hovered there, slowly fading after several seconds: asteroid dust hitting our atmosphere; our earth flying through the tail of a comet at some 66,700 mph (if you decide to exclude the speed at which we are rotating.)
The ride down was excruciating. The temperature continued to plummet as we flew back down into the canyons, along the creek and into the shadows again. The wind chilled me to the bone; the air froze my lungs as I tried to breath. My fingers refused to move, my face stood still while I tried to talk. My brain began to feel numb. I fell into survival mode. And though many people would wonder why I would find this enjoyable, I do. It makes me feel human.
posted by humble bee at 4:57 PM
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