Things I saw in the dark

A woman in multi-colored bike shorts passed me on the first climb. She had a road bike, and the skinny tires were being powered by her mile-long legs. She must have been 6-2" or 3". She waited until the path got wide enough, slipped by, and vanished up the climb without a sound. I envy her speed, but love my fat-tire versatility.

The old, black men were fishing in the park. The sun was just going down, they were just getting settled in. Their voices were so low you couldn't tell what they were saying, but then, someone would laugh, risking scaring the fish away. I'm not sure the fish had too much to fear; I think those fellas were their to catch a little quiet time together.

Muslim women were jogging with their scarfs on, covered head to toe in long sleeve shirts, long sweat pants. I've seen them before. They look away or down when I pass, and after a while, I've gotten to where I look down to. I don't "get it," but it's their thing, and I respect that. I won't look if they don't want me to.

Some other young women looked like they were trying hard to get you to look. Shorts so low that they looked ready to drop. They looked mighty fluffy, jogging in their little outfits, but I noticed one young woman ahead of her friend, looking back to make sure she was there, but not letting up on the pace, and her friend, struggling to keep up. I've been on both ends of that one. I smiled. I love competition.

The sun was below the horizon, and the ducks were gathering for the night. Each little duck family was pulled close together - an adult or two, surrounded by half a dozen young ducks. The young ones aren't babies anymore. Soon, it will be time for them to learn to migrate. The families were scattered around the ponds, dots of extra dark gray on the dark gray canvas of the water.

I rode out to the damn. I saw a middle aged couple, walking the path ahead of me. They weren't hurrying anywhere. Their faces looked relieved just to be together at the end of another day. Older, more tired, but relieved.

Out at the damn, I looked up at the looming hulk of the new bridge. Two bicyclists were crossing on what must be a new bike path on the new bridge. One was a heavy set woman in a bright red jacket. The other looked like a woman too, but her clothes were too dark to make her out at that distance. I waited for a minute, hoping they would swing down and into the park from the bridge so I could ask them about the path, but they kept riding, off around the bend, until the trees hid them.

When I passed the pond, it smelled like dead things. The air was warm along there, and the bugs were thicker. I peddled faster, not wanting to be near the smell of dead things in the dark.

The car lights made surreal pictures on the new concrete retaining walls of the new path as I headed home. I had to tip my face down to keep from losing my night vision when the cars passed. The new path rides well, but it lacks character. I miss my rotting timbers and pot-holed ashphalt.

Just before getting to my turn into the neighborhood, I passed an older man. His short gray hair looked wet and shiny on his helmetless head. He was peddling in the other direction, pushing too big of a gear. He was looking down, lost, thinking about something too hard, or maybe too many things all at once. He looked like if you told him he could just stay on the bike, never have to get up in the morning, never have to go back to work, he'd take that deal. I tried to smile as we passed, but his blank look and belated half nod said pretty clearly, "Son, I haven't seen another human being in a while, I didn't even know there were any left, let alone any younger ones." He smelled nice. Freshly showered, smelling of soaps, shampoos, deodorants. We were near the gym, I wondered if he was just coming from there.

And I wondered, is that my future? Riding a path, late at night, alone, smelling fresh and ready for life, but not really expecting to meet a fellow human being?