142 words about 40 degrees and a crude rail yard theremin

There’s something about the combination of a cold and dark ride. The sounds and smells are sharper. 17 mph feels like 22. The darkness sands the blemishes on everything. In the dark, the trestles in Irondale look less tired, almost stately. At night, the mind fills in the shadows with a better version of what’s really there. Even the Thunder Inn looks classy. Or at least classier. At 40 degrees, the air is crinkly, sounds are crisper and travel farther. Slipping down the valley below Ruffner Mountain, the sounds from the rail yard seem just off your shoulder. The shrieks of the rail cars sound like a giant, crude theremin, the score for a mystery at a drive-in movie, and then something unseen shrieks deep in the trees. Probably a screech owl. Probably. And 22 feels like 26, and not fast enough.