The night is a quiet space when you think about it. The darkness seems to absorb the sounds and the streets are so empty. When I ride at night I feel so fast too. Maybe its because I can only see so far and shapes seem to fly by just a half a second faster than the norm. It is in those half seconds that I feel invited to reach down to the drop bars.
Now it may seem odd, because it is, but the sounds and the speed are another world. The cold air is running through my fleece and I can feel it on my lower back. My back is exposed because my fleece is to small but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I think for one of those half seconds that I have an air cooled jet pack on. I wonder for another half second how the jet pack is converting the night air into fuel but am reminded that my legs are moving me forward because I hit a hill… and I can feel it.
The clean ticking of the chain and the tires gripping when I hit a curve remind me that I am grounded and free. Grounded by gears that move like a machine and free to aim this machine, that I have chosen to be apart of, in any direction I want. I have to choose a direction for this thing to work. If I look too long to the horizon or back at a passing car I will crash loosing the speed of the night and I am sure the crash would break the silence. I don’t want to crash.
But I am interested in flying through this city at speeds close to the speed of sound. This is why I am choosing to be in the drops. For a moment I reposition and grab the bullhorns but after being low and tight with the bike the bullhorns make me feel like an old man. And out here I am riding trying to turn back time, the bullhorns have never felt the same since I reached for the drops about a twenty minutes ago. The drops are the new norm and there is no going back.
