Images and Words

Cycling north and I’m edging the west side of the Mississippi River. The first 20 minutes are near-absolute darkness and I might as well be riding through space, through an ever-expanding universe in which invisible clouds have drowned out the stars. It’s cold enough to freeze the water in my water bottle and I can’t squeeze a drop out of it. My front light provides some trail visibility directly in front of me, just enough to dodge the occasional cluster of broken glass.

To my right, moments later, morning breaks and a thin strip of orange glows on the eastern horizon, across the Mississippi. Above this tangerine line the sky becomes a purple sea. Behind me I hear the steady rumble of construction vehicles moaning that “progress is important”.

A flock of wild turkeys loiters ahead. There’s one perched on the cement wall that edges the trail on my left, and another turkey pecking at something, maybe a rat, in the grass to my right. They don’t mind me.

Memories of things I’ve heard over the past week clutter my mind.

At work, a corporate head: “My car broke down and I was sooooo stressed. Like, it’s as if life as you know it ends. You can’t do anything. Sooooo glad to have my car back.”

Another corporate head: “I felt a little sick but like, I got the vaccine, so no wayyyy it’s coronavirus. Like, I got the shot already. I should be safe.”

Suddenly I wonder if I can actually be of the same species as these corporate talking heads.

Thoughts of an older man telling me his life story: “I’ve been divorced for three years. I was married for 23 years. I think constantly about what I’ve lost. We were really in love once. Someone reminded me that I’m lucky, because who gets a good marriage for more than 20 years? And that reframes my mind, even though I may never have that feeling again, and maybe I’m not meant to, but maybe it’s enough that I had it once.”

Words from another person follow these: “The high and low for me are the same thing. I quit my job. I have no plans. I have no security blanket. I don’t care. I felt like it was time. It was time to venture into the unknown. I was tired of waiting. I was tired of the security blanket. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying. I’m ready for the darkness.”

The trail ahead of me is still dark, but it suddenly concerns me less.

Thinking about those words reminds me that people can also inspire me.

I don’t want my bike ride to end because while I’m pedaling I’m absorbed in deeper thoughts and at times entranced by the present moment.

Everything, I think, is a series of expansions and contractions. While pedaling my heart expands and contracts. Trillions of light years away the universe expands, and I wonder if it is inevitable that it will eventually contract and smother us with the nothingness from which we all began, and render all of these thoughts and worries obsolete as I, my being, blends with the planets and stars that at present seem so foreign. And if so, was the security blanket really worth it?

Sunlight brushes my left cheek on the ride back to the apartment.