Night Rides

Michael Hooper and Emil Spaeth, The Brass Rail.

I should be tired but I cannot rest.

I decide I'm going for a bicycle ride. I check the bike lights, I check the tires, grab helmet, I'm good to go. This Surly Ogre never lets me down, this bike is tougher than me.

It's times like these that I break the pattern of regularity and go somewhere I've never been before, to meet people I've never met. Maybe I will go to a pub in the arts district.

I gather speed on 8th Street, loving this quick scream downhill stretch, propelling me ahead, in the streetlight darkness.

I pedal pass the old sanatorium grounds. Most of the State Hospital is gone except for the anonymous dead buried in the cemetery  -- silent reminders of our kept madness.

I wander through Potwin and look at the great mansions. I remember Halloween nights with a thousand children collecting pounds of candy at these stately homes. But tonight the neighborhood is quiet.

My bicycle rolls on, it seems to take off going downhill again, I just have to be super alert to avoid a crash. I concentrate intently on my way East on 1st Street all the way to Kansas Avenue

I turn north and head to NOTO Arts District

A few musicians are hanging around. I stop into J&J for a beer. Native American pride lives here.

I decided to ride to the Brass Rail. I took the Sardou Bridge. I look below by the river at little Russia.

I wander my way over to the Rail, lock up my bike and go inside where I see a couple friends in the light by the old wood bar.

There's Daryl Hendrix, Kerrice Mapes, Sally Glassman, Emil Spaeth, Charles Baylor. They make me smile just thinking about them.

Charles and I talk about the books we are reading, and look up at the Royals game.

A second beer hits me just right, I'm feeling the warm glow of the evening ambiance.

I go outside and sit next to a stranger, we have a connection, a conversation, a bond.

This is enough, this is beautiful man, how lucky are we to share in this moment.

We could hear the sound of a cheer as the Royals scored another run.

I check my sanity level, my dexterity, I feel okay, I think I can do this, I get back on the bike and start wandering my way home.

It's mostly uphill all the way, I peddle slowly yet the bike takes me fast along the street.

I see the darkened sky and the stars above. I roll gently. I am floating with the sky above the ground, the rolling wheels carrying me.

I rest at the Dutch Goose, for a final pint of the night. Many memories happened in this place. I fondly recall the bagpipes playing on Saint Patrick's Day.

I drink a PBR for a few minutes, then decide it's over. Time to ride the last mile uphill, it's the hardest part of the midnight journey.

I parked the bike in the garage, go inside the  house, it's quiet. The children are in their rooms asleep, I crawl into bed, my wife has been up reading but now is ready to close out the night. We kiss, Good night.

The colors of the night linger in my head as I drift off to sleep.

-Michael Hooper, Nov. 16, 2018