The morning rides are dark
now. At home in the U.S. of A., you’d have the artificial lurch
of day light savings to make all suddenly somber. Here the ground cedes gradually. The ritual takes more time. Where six weeks ago I could just pull on some
shorts and grab wash cloth and go, I now need to prepare myself against the
cold. A hoodie so I can pull the sack up and over my neck and don the big,
orange, puffy coat I’ve had for a decade.
It has a tear where the zipper ripped the lining so down now flies out when
I squeeze the coat tight around me to zip it.
This
morning I’ve reached for DJ Doom, the super villain. I’ve had these albums downloaded to my phone
and have listened to them in airports, mostly these “Special Herbs” albums.
They are a poignantly tasteful mix that evoke the feeling of Saturday
morning cartoons in the early seventies when cartoons were most of what the world could offer.
Color coded, I pulled for the cobalt blue album to start, Volume 7 &
8 with “Fo Ti” and the “magic message.”
I
can’t find any gloves so I have a thick pair of holiday socks on each
hand. I am fully aware that this looks
ridiculous. It’s too dark out. Who will see to comment? The gate that usually allows bicycles egress
is closed. No guard is sitting there. At
this hour all traffic goes out the main gate and I make sure to catch the guard’s
eyes as I draw close so that the 2x4 doesn’t
come crashing down upon me. Out on the
road, to the right of the pylon markers, I click the gear so it’s harder to
pedal and enjoy the stillness.
Wednesday,11/07/18
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