Dancing In The Dark

What do you fear most? Losing your spouse, your job, your life? My biggest fear has always been becoming one of them: The Normals. Nine to five in a numb case with no escape. Working, mowing the grass, going to church, conservative clothing, thinking and the slanted perpetual smile of the damned. A world of safe moves, station wagons, potato salad and small talk. Don't offend anyone. Don't say what you think. Network your way into the club man.

It's my private rebellion. My crusade against no one. I need little things, every so often, to keep me left of center. Surfing in El Salvador, a conversation with a homeless guy, a bike race, blah, blah, blah.

The time is right for riding in the dark. It takes a few weeks for the skin to grow back, for the perception to adjust. The first few rides are an exercise in twitch. The boring trail is transformed into something that demands every cells concentration. Every sound, every root, is amplified to the tenth power. There are no strollers, no dog walkers, no stink eyed hikers. The Normals are home monitoring the crock pots, and the evening news. They are moisturising. They are on their third cocktail, hoping to escape the judgement of a sideways glance. They are trying to remember the last time they had sex. They are dancing chickens with no heads. They don't know they are dead.

I know everyone does it. I know we are not making a summit attempt after two o'clock. We aren't on patrol in Iraq or Afghanistan. Lets not over inflate our adventures. That would be UNETHICAL!

People in cars look at me like I am weird. My neighbors shake their heads. My heart beats a little harder on the fast section of Cadillac. I force myself to let go of the brakes. I am not one of them. I can live with that.

W.B.Z.N.