Biking BK
A girl made me sad. I got on my bike. Then I wrote about it.
Parts of life are best on bike. Brooklyn nearing dusk is best on bike.
Flirting with 25 on a beat up Nishiki. Bent handlebar, missing right brake. Chain grinding against the guard. Slicing through traffic down Manhattan Ave’s cut of Greenpoint. Experiencing the world in a way that can only be experienced on bike. Such is viewing the world frame by frame. Collecting only brief snippets of information. So little time to think or understand or analyze. Just enough to see.
Maybe an idea comes attached. A reflection of the most natural thought your brain is capable of creating. One of those inexplicable neuro-happenings that defies reason. Like instant love. Thoughts that transcend the logic-based process in which thoughts are traditionally created. Such is a direct stream into the subconscious. Unadulterated intuition.
Visuals, sounds, emotions all compete for attention. Lights, signs, pedestrians, cars… all threats. Stop, go. Green, yellow, red. Do not enter. One way. Physical contact, with anything, means death or paralysis–or scrapes and bruises.
Still, for a second I consider the world beyond abrupt stops of motion. Simple observation cultivated from a glance. “That guy looks like Ringo Starr. Maybe he plays drums, too.” Sometimes you see a face and guess its whole life. “She looks upset. Maybe she’s going through a divorce.” Life, some aspect of it, has caused her to feel the way she feels; has put this expression on her face. What was it?
Alternative perceptions of a brief collection of information exist side by side. Cars are dangerous. Don’t cross paths with one. Look at the person inside the car. What’s on her mind? Who is she? Both takes, important in their own way. Both exist in a split second. One has a clear function: protect and maintain life. The other is pure curiosity.
I hear conversations. Plans being made. Arguments.
“I love you.” is a powerful sentence. Perhaps the most important thing you can exchange with another person. Impossible not to catch in the street’s improvised symphony. To hear someone, someone you don’t even know, say those words to another person… you feel some of its meaning. Even though it’s not yours. Waving a hand by a hot bulb, absorbing its radiant heat. Even for that fleeting moment, you feel it.
Occasionally you lock eyes with someone. Become a participant in their life, and they a participant in yours. And then it’s gone.
I ride a bike with disregard for my own safety. Barely missing clips by mirrors. Entering the opposite lane, only returning to my own before imminent doom. I’m an easy target for honks. Cocky, possibly. Stupid, definitely. But the feeling is worth it.
At such a reckless pace, connecting, even the slightest bit, with anything, could kill me… maybe instantly. But I can’t help, for just that brief blip in time, to allow my mind to wander freely. To go fast. To forget danger. To put my entire self at risk of crashing. Despite the consequences.
