Biking by Night

Most evenings after it’s dark I bike around the compound. I zoom up and down the small dark quiet streets, coast around corners. There’s never any need to change gear, so it feels like riding my old CCM bike, red and white with a two-tone seat. No cleats or shoes, even; I’m in shorts and zorries. It feels like grade four.

All of our bikes had pony names, Trigger or Champion or Betsy. One brainy kid called hers Bucephalus. We rode over to the small neighbourhood gas station on Kilborn where the humps over the underground gas tanks became barriers we had to jump over, rising from our seats, urging on our brave steeds.

Evenings we rode around the neighbourhood, where we knew all the streets and many of the people. We always knew exactly where we were and much of what was happening. There was no danger or fear. It was all known and safe. The Dempseys were barbecuing. Mr. Dawson was out washing his car. He had a special soap for his white wall tires. “Hey, Gordie!” we yelled, not slowing down much, just sailing by. “Whatcha doing?” He always said the same thing. “Roasting a chicken!” he yelled, and we all glided on, laughing.*

So riding around the miniature streets here with their miniature homes is a lot like that. Next to no traffic and the speed limit is 10 miles an hour in any case. Out on the point are benches by Old Tampa Bay and I always stop and set a spell, looking across the waters to the fairy lights of the St. Petersburg side, looking down to watch the mullet jump, and looking up to watch the planes come in to TPA and runway zero niner. The runways there actually have names like 19R or 10/28 and I think I am watching the approach to 1L, but somewhere I picked up zero niner as a runway name and I just use that no matter where I am. It’s a great spot from which to watch the International Space Station beetle across the firmament. It’s very peaceful there; a terrific end to the day.

*Gordie Dawson sold insurance and had a white mustache. His wife Teddy was always impossibly, perfectly, manicured, her hair set, lipstick on when she hung the laundry. Our mother put on lipstick (Revlon Fifth Avenue Red) only when she was going out. If we saw her her in lipstick we got all whiny and where ya going? Can we come? Once my mother and me and my sisters were driving downtown in slow bumper to bumper traffic. Gordie appeared, driving in the other direction, and as his car crawled by he mouthed, “I looooove you” and we all, mother and daughters, laughed and laughed.