Peace in the Dark

There’s something wonderfully refreshing about the dark.

I’m not talking that semi-dark in the city, where the distant glow of street lights are always visible, and the glaring stare of an LED is always close at hand.

Pitch black. Just you and the glow of the moon.

That’s how my ride on Tuesday morning was. It was dark, cold, wet, and fantastic.

Headed out just before midnight in a soft drizzle that would later turn into fully-fledged, taking a shower sized rain. I half-expected the rain to go away, that stupid hope that makes no sense and is simply used as a way of lying to myself when I don’t want to face facts. Surprise, surprise when it came pelting down and soaked through all my clothing. The only difference between the ride and going swimming being that faint warmth of stored up sweat soaking into my clothing, feebly trying to ward off the cold as the rain continually tried to push in the cold from the outside.

After an hour and a half of riding the remnants of the city started to fade away. Cars became fewer and those still on the road were clearly out with a purpose, because what other reason would there be for being out there. Street lights were spread further and further apart, their faint glow providing the guiding light to the next faint glow until, finally, the light from one was not even enough to light my way until the next.

And finally, no more.

Just me and the faint glow of my bike light. The bike light that is intended to alert other drivers to my presence, but not to cast a significant beam onto the road. In this case it was just enough to light up cateyes in the middle of the road and the warning beacons at the side for up to five meters ahead.

At first I was nervous and a little scared not having the usual lights to govern my way and warn me of anything coming up. It was like riding by touch, and although I didn’t want to touch anything my movements were governed by the proximity of those few indicators of going completely off track. Half the time was spent almost in the middle of the road, where the threat of running into a cateye beat the threat of running off the road.

The small beam of light was a tunnel trying weakly to break through the darkness ahead. And failing miserably. But it was enough and I adapted. Keeping straight with precious few visual queues, and using the little light available managed to guide myself and my bike along windy roads, long straights and finally over to the top of the mountain where the glow of the lights below were there to provide that sense of safety I’m so accustomed to.

Light.