I love to ride at night. The chill in the air and the slight cool moisture. I can feel the mist brushing across my skin as I pedal. It is refreshing, and little chilling.
The moon, my old friend, seems to race with me as I push through the night. It dances on the leaves and grass, lighting my way, both greeting me and waving goodbye. It punctuates the peaceful nature of these night rides.
Sometimes I like to ride casually, alone, the clicking of the chain and the spinning whiz of the tires. These are often the only sounds I hear on these evening excursions.
Tonight I pedal so hard my lungs are on fire. The flashes I see are not moonlight, but fire, and steel. My friends are with me tonight, and they urge me forward, the taste of blood in my spittle.
Sixteen of them have joined me. I said no pets, but they brought their dogs anyway. I pedal as though my life depends on it, my wheels fairly leaving the ground.
I love to ride at night. The wet mist fills my lungs, almost drowning me as I gasp. The moon, my old enemy, hiding a stone or a divot that could cast me from my saddle. I cannot even hear the chain tonight, only booms and ringing. Oh how I wish I were alone. I love to ride at night.