Wednesday, October 27, 2010
"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Those of you who know me, know that I rage at the end of every summer. I protest, barter, and just plain deny, the need for lights. Even when the fight's over, I'll still be the last to ignite my torch. Maybe there's Riddick in my blood. Maybe I have more in common with my favorite of all birds, the owls. Either way, I see better in twilight, without man made lumens.
Despite all of that, I broke out my light systems, and began my ritual recharge and burn down tests, to be sure my lights would not let me down in the inky blackness of the trails. Despite my love for natural light, I found myself excited about the coming season. By the end, I'll be so sick of keeping lights charged. My neck will be sore from the extra weight on my helmet. But right now, like the first bite of an apple, I'm excited about the first forays into the darkness. The eerie, foggy loops of Munson and Twilight, the spotlight technicality of trails of questionable legality, the subway tunnels of speed runs along Upper Caddilac, all wait to be played out, hopefully to the degree that my memories preserve new snapshots to recharge my own night riding batteries, for the seasons to follow.