It was a warm spring day. The sky was very blue. The temperatures were very warm.
I was riding along the Violet Crown Trail, going around a turn when I came upon a hiking mother and child. They heard my wheels, looked back, and stood aside. I winked at the boy and rode past.
Donna Summer was playing in my ears: It’s soooo good.
I was standing on the pedals pumping as hard as I could. Then I turned off to the right onto a narrow, rocky trail that headed into a woods. I’m innnnn love.
Past Junipers. Under Oaks. And then out into a meadow.
Dried brown Frost Plant stems from last year stood five feet tall here and there amid a sea of spring green grasses and stunningly luminous Prairie Verbena. The trail wound around, undulating in tight turns through the vast green and lavender expanse.
And as she drew out her I feel love, the trail turned quickly left and then right and left and right. Again and again, turning and turning, winding through the meadow. And as the electronic triplets beat and the droning song played I was at the top of a berm, over the top, down the other side, and into a dark tunnel as modulating electronic music took over. [1:43 in the video.] Goose pimples ran down my arms. She had stopped singing the instant the daylight disappeared behind me.
I was plunged into pitch black darkness. For all I knew there was a coyote standing in front of me. I could see nothing, squeezed the brakes, and pedaled cautiously toward the light at the end of the tunnel until my eyes grew accustomed to the dark. Then I stood again and sped toward the light, a lyric-less phase-shifting crescendo building in my ears.
Just as I broke out into day, she started singing again. Fallin’ free, fallin’ free, fallin’ free, fallin’ free, fallinnnn’ free.
OMG, I’m thinking, goose pimples returning, sweat pouring from my forehead.
…
Altogether, it was a good bike ride.