First, you should NEVER ride a bicycle at night. Riding a bicycle is dangerous any time but bicycling at night adds many more dangers. If you must ride a bike at night you should do it only as a last resort remembering to observe every caution and safety measure available.
I have no choice, in grocery, there are too many variables in scheduling associate's hours. If you want any hours at all you have to take some "closing" shifts. Once or twice a week I punch out, put on my bicycle helmet and begin the six or seven-mile ride home. The bus doesn't run after 10: pm so I have to crank my way home.
In warm summer months it is nice. Most of the roads are deserted and only a few cars are out. Those on the road have bright headlights that give early warning of their approach. For most of my ride I can command the center of the road where the cracks and debris are minimal and the rolling is smooth. I enjoy the reflective solitude in traveling at night where you are accompanied by your own thoughts and you can really think things through.
Most streets are dark as are most of the homes you roll past. You know inside people are warm in their beds resting. Few lights are on as people watch late night TV, finish the last chores of the day or wrap up some work for boss or teachers.
You are not really alone as you drift through silent neighborhoods. A million crickets sing in rhythm to the katydids in the trees to make a song that breathes in waves overhead. Eight pair of bright eyes low to the ground in the darkest part of the road turns into silhouettes of a family of raccoons crossing the road. An unseen dog faithfully barks every night at the same place when I cruise past. The elementary school is a dark meadow visited by a small heard of deer, with two or three doe and four or five spotted fawns; they stop their grazing on the garden beds and raise their heads to watch me silently coast past. Further up the black shape of a fox or coyote dash across the gray pavement.
This is not the only wild life I pass going home. The beer and wine shop is lit up by neon lights and the parking lot is illuminated by the floodlights like two artificial angry moons. Loud voices arguing over the roar of revving car engines cut the peace. Another quarter mile is the cantina where laughter mingles with the sound of canned music and billiard balls colliding with one another. A regular sight is to see men urinating on the side of the building from which they previously bought their drink.
Five minutes more and I am locking my bicycle to the back deck of my townhouse. Inside the lights are too bright and the walls too close, but it is safe, and comfortable; it is home and there is a bed upstairs. A scratching at the door tells me the cat is eager to get out and explore the nightlife.
I have no choice, in grocery, there are too many variables in scheduling associate's hours. If you want any hours at all you have to take some "closing" shifts. Once or twice a week I punch out, put on my bicycle helmet and begin the six or seven-mile ride home. The bus doesn't run after 10: pm so I have to crank my way home.
In warm summer months it is nice. Most of the roads are deserted and only a few cars are out. Those on the road have bright headlights that give early warning of their approach. For most of my ride I can command the center of the road where the cracks and debris are minimal and the rolling is smooth. I enjoy the reflective solitude in traveling at night where you are accompanied by your own thoughts and you can really think things through.
Most streets are dark as are most of the homes you roll past. You know inside people are warm in their beds resting. Few lights are on as people watch late night TV, finish the last chores of the day or wrap up some work for boss or teachers.
You are not really alone as you drift through silent neighborhoods. A million crickets sing in rhythm to the katydids in the trees to make a song that breathes in waves overhead. Eight pair of bright eyes low to the ground in the darkest part of the road turns into silhouettes of a family of raccoons crossing the road. An unseen dog faithfully barks every night at the same place when I cruise past. The elementary school is a dark meadow visited by a small heard of deer, with two or three doe and four or five spotted fawns; they stop their grazing on the garden beds and raise their heads to watch me silently coast past. Further up the black shape of a fox or coyote dash across the gray pavement.
This is not the only wild life I pass going home. The beer and wine shop is lit up by neon lights and the parking lot is illuminated by the floodlights like two artificial angry moons. Loud voices arguing over the roar of revving car engines cut the peace. Another quarter mile is the cantina where laughter mingles with the sound of canned music and billiard balls colliding with one another. A regular sight is to see men urinating on the side of the building from which they previously bought their drink.
Five minutes more and I am locking my bicycle to the back deck of my townhouse. Inside the lights are too bright and the walls too close, but it is safe, and comfortable; it is home and there is a bed upstairs. A scratching at the door tells me the cat is eager to get out and explore the nightlife.
