Tales from a bike ride through the dark

"Peter!!! Pete!" I yell, a mouth full of ice cream, (probably some dripping down my white shirt), one hand holding a waffle cone, one hand on the bike handlebars, as I dodge strollers and pedestrians and people dancing in the street in front of a huge stage.
"I think..."
"What?" Pete asks, sounding a bit impatient... though really he is just 100 feet ahead of me, trying to pull off the same prowess.
"I think we are downtownies... living in the 'burbs... I think that is our only problem."


Sunday evening was the festival downtown to welcome the US Pro Cycling challenge into town. There were vendor booths, live music, awesome people watching, and the usual liveliness of downtown. 
To thoroughly enjoy this festival, we opted out of trying to find a parking place in the area and instead rode our bikes down the greenway that goes right into our humble downtown.


We ended up being able to have a nice dinner with Pete's parents and grandparents. And then we toured the fest, and stopped by the ice cream shop just around the corner from work. 
But... all this fun meant that we headed home in growing darkness. And its a good hour ride from downtown to where we parked our car.


I'm afraid of what can't be seen. We all are in some extent. Especially on those pessimistic days. The fear of the unknown in front of us can be overwhelming in both a physical and mental sense. But it has always been a huge thing for me. I remember trying to explain this in a writing assignment in middle school. My teacher responded with, "So you are afraid of the dark?" Well, no... because my vision is bad enough that take my glasses away and I cannot see in the most perfect of light. But yes, because most often when things really sneak up on you unforeseen: is in the dark. 
And to be completely honest, I still leave the light on if I go to sleep before Pete comes home. He thinks that its just because I fall asleep so fast that I do not get a chance to turn off the light. And sometimes it is. But most of the time, it is just because I do not want to wake up and wonder if the person walking into my bedroom whom I cannot see AT ALL (no glasses and dark? not a chance) is really Peter. 
So, I wasn't completely psyched to be riding home in the darkness. Especially since I couldn't find my bike headlight OR headlamp. And Pete has a flashing taillight in front of me which, with my night vision (or lack thereof), just further obscures everything else.
But I embraced it. And I found it to be rather peaceful. Especially in the darkest parts of the green way. There is so little distraction. Its kind of like in one of those athlete based movies, where the pivotal moment comes and the sound goes completely silent except for the persons breathing and heart rate...
I haven't left myself alone with my thoughts much in the most recent months. Because, well, frankly... they aren't pretty. But, on the bike... it was serene. It really did seem like the worst thing in our lives was that we live too far out "in the burbs." Everything felt momentarily okay.


But there was still this tightness in my chest. This wondering if we would have to find out that the zombie apocolalypse had started between the time we had ridden south on the trail in the light to when we were riding north on the trail in the dark. And as Peter's tail light fell off his bike and we momentarily stopped to fix it, it did seem like the opening moments of a horror movie. 


But it was fine. Well, I mean, we arrived home completely unscathed. There was another moment when we briefly stopped that we heard something LARGE tromping through the woods just ahead of us. And then, a huge dog appeared at the side of the trail. It had to be a dog. To huge for a coyote, too small for a bear, and too completely uninterested in us to be a mountain lion.
But there was this moment of tension as I was leaning over my bag when this happened and Peter whispered, "Whatever happens, don't move." and I heard the snap on his holster... (the dog is fine, it wandered away and we moved right along... and with a little more pep than we had before)


People talk about how those missing a sense (sight, hearing...) just end up with better abilities with the other four senses. But. This was different than that. It was too dark for sight. So quiet for sound. So still (except for the air rushing past you as you pedaled) for touch. 
So you are left with smell and thoughts. And somehow, this made the world seem so much brighter, more peaceful, loving. 


I can only declare that this perception is because for the briefest point in time (a whole hour out of a whole lifetime), we OPTED to not be able to see in front of us. And it did not slow us down. It did not hurt. It was not frightful. It was not unfortunate.
IT WAS NOT BAD.


I don't know what is in front of the Hall family at this point. And I've finally accepted that, my wildest guess, dream, hope, fear... will not ever be exactly what we end up with. I would say that I cannot see very far in front of me at all. 
But that doesn't have to slow me down, hurt me, scare me, or be bad.


It just has to be accepted.