|Crosscut Canal, Camelback Mountain in the distance|
The zone must have found me tonight, or me it, because at one point, I kind of noticed that I hadn't been noticing where I was, hadn't noticed that I passed one or two spots that I usually check out, but had just been flying along the canal at night, listening to the quiet sound of my tires on the gravel, and the water flowing along, and me flowing like water.
|Tiny symbol of affluence parked in my bike lane|
The bike runs quiet at night on these smooth black top streets. A few people took notice of how quiet I was when I passed by on the flatland commuter fixed gear bike. A few extra bonus miles along the Crosscut canal called my name, so I made the turn and rode that way, too. Wanted to keep going, wanted to heed the call to fly, but I also think one can get greedy with the feeling, and that it should be taken somewhat in moderation, rationed out across the summer nights. I gotta fly, and thank you night, it was golden.