My headlight let me down again. It doesn't hold a charge very well and I have found that it suddenly loses power at inopportune times, and any time is inopportune while riding at night. Still, I had expected it to work for more than 50 feet after rolling out of my driveway. I have also found that slapping it like an old black and white TV whose rabbit ears had seen better decades sometimes fixes it. This time it didn't. So, I stopped, replaced the nonfunctioning headlight with a AA batteries powered headlight that I was carrying in case of probable emergency, and continued on my way.
The night was clearless, a harbinger of the snow that could be occurring within the next 12 hours. I turned onto Oakland Drive and picked my way through the bits of sticks deposited on the bike lane thanks to the previous Sunday's storm, while checking my mirror for approaching cars. The sticks were not illuminated as well as I would have liked. However, I was. Although it was a few days before Thanksgiving, I had gotten a head start on Christmas, wearing a reflective vest to match my reflective helmet and reflective shoe covers, accompanied by blinking ankle strap lights. My bicycle was decorated with the usual blinking red taillight, but I had also accessorized it with reflective strips applied to the seat stays and crank arms. I was half expecting passing drivers to hurl presents, which would certainly be more welcome than hurling invectives at the unexpected cyclist with whom they were sharing the road. Unfortunately and fortunately, I received neither.
I turned left on Schuring Road, and then turned right, winding my way through the streets between Schuring and Centre Avenue, hugging the center to avoid the leaves that were periodically piled along the curb. Like me, a few houses couldn't wait for Christmas, or perhaps, they were leftover Halloween lights, and neither explanation was particularly excusable. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two dark shapes approaching from the shadow of a house, and as they ran just in front of me, I realized that they were deer; disproving my albeit unlikely hypothesis that they were two large cats. Two houses later, I passed another house whose roof was lit up like a landing strip, so maybe they were actually reindeer. This was another excuse for cautious riding. I didn't want to run over any elves.
I crossed Schuring Road and rode through the streets north of Schuring. Reaching the stoplight where Constitution Boulevard runs into Romence Road, I waited to turn left. I hoped that the drivers across from me who weren't in the right turn lane and weren't using their left turn signals weren't also planning to drive straight ahead. The light changed and those drivers who just couldn't summon the energy to flip a stick did indeed turn left, to my relief and exasperation.
Soon after turning right off Romence, I saw three men changing a flat tire on a pick-up truck by the side of the road; a bad time for a flat tire, but I suppose that no time is a good time for one of those. I continued to ride through the streets of what was now my old neighborhood, checking my mileage from the glow of the occasional street light, as I was getting cold, but also wanting to ride at least 8 miles. This was an arbitrary goal, but a goal, nonetheless. I rode by my old house and got on the bicycle path that didn't exist when I lived there, riding by the water tower and Haverhill Elementary School before rejoining the road. The path was dark; reinforcing my opinion that my AA batteries had been graded on a curve, although it was more likely that they were simply running out of power.
Leaving my old neighborhood, I turned left for a brief ride back on Oakland Drive before turning right into the neighborhood to the north of my new neighborhood. I thought about the fact that I had seen few cars other than the ones on the major roads, and even fewer pedestrians; all of them dog walkers. It was no surprise that I had seen no other cyclists. The temperature was just above freezing and it was a dark and almost stormy night. I thought about those in the warmth of their houses, huddled around their dinner tables or their TVs, behaving the way normal 40 or 50 or 60 year old people behave.
I also thought about the fact that fifty years ago to the day, a President had been assassinated, and that the take home message that I took from that experience was that I never wanted to live to see that happen again. And I also thought about the fact that my 11 year old self could not have possibly fathomed how I'd be spending my evening exactly fifty years later. But if James Taylor was right and that "the secret of life is enjoying the passing of time," then I suspect that I was closer to uncovering this secret that evening than most of those who were spending their time gazing into their reality TV reflections. And time can be a fragile gift.
I crossed Romence Road heading south, back to my neighborhood, and I enjoyed a stretch of well lit, downhill, freshly paved pavement, before riding the last few fractions of a mile back to my house. I took my bike inside my garage, leaned it against the wall, and checked my time and mileage. I had been riding for 48 minutes, 9.5 miles, and one hot shower. And then I'd eat dinner, just like normal people do.
But first, I pulled my non-functioning headlight from my jersey pocket, set it on the kitchen counter, and pressed the on-off button. It was working again.
Rick Whaley, KBC Newsletter Editor
