The other night, I returned some videos. I normally drive the thing. This night I was feeling kind of saucy, so I rode my bike the entire 300 yards. I returned Kill Bill Volume 2 and Purple Rain (which is really, really good).
Like I said, I was feeling saucy, so I kept riding. South, into the heart of the city. It was about 12:45 a.m. and the roads were free from cars. I rode. Tops of buildings capped in a curious fog. It was perfect. Dodging potholes. Jumping cracks in the pavement. Running red lights.
I wanted that feeling tonight, so I hopped on the bike and rode. South. Downtown. I cranked hard into the city, passing Tap Restaurant. My previous goal. I spun up the mellow undulating hills of downtown Atlanta. I took it in. Cigar smoke. Sour garbage. Crisp night air. Bus exhaust. Eventually I arrived at the marquis of the historic Fox Theater. The blue tint of night cast a ghoulish palor on the building. Time to head back.
The ride north to Buckhead is zippy. Back down those hills. I paced the sickly glow of the fluorescent bus into Buckhead. Given the laborious bus stops, I had the advantage. It was close. But I edged the bus out on the last downhill before my street.
There's something amazing about riding a self-powered vehicle into a domain reserved for metal behemoths. I've ridden bikes all my life. That's not going to change.
