Speeding through the moonlit streets, tasting the still night air, feeling the road through the pedals – nothing better after a long day.
Trapped in the newsroom until the loneliest hours of the night? Transcribing hours-long interviews? Manually typing data released as scanned PDFs instead of spreadsheets?
Hop on the bike. Slip into the pedal straps. Strain against the inertia of the fixed gear until the assembly turns freely with the ease of already-gathered speed.
Relish the simple wirr of the tires gliding across the asphalt, the wide-to-you lanes so empty they symbolize a life lived free, the blacked-out bike invisible to those who aren’t looking.
Turn the corner onto First Street from Sixth Avenue and feel the odd sadness of a journey nearly complete.
Wish but for a minute, almost, that you lived farther from campus, farther from the newsroom, farther from the constraints of daily life, if only for the momentary pleasure of a longer ride home.
Because the sky is black.
The streets are silent.
And you’re truly free.