Ride with a Peek-A-Boo Moon

I love night rides and as I fueled up in Buttonwillow after a great day at the Raceway with my best friend Jim, the sun was setting behind us letting my anticipation grow. I knew that by the time I hit the Grapevine it would be full dark and the stars would make their appearance. A night ride has an air of mystery about it, the mystique of faceless drivers and their passengers cloaked in darkness; they could be anyone my mind wanted them to be while I’m riding along unhidden from their gaze. Somehow this heightens my sense of freedom while on two wheels. To be sure, the need for vigilance has to be primed to ensure that I am actually being seen and known to the driver to be there; adding to that the road hazards coming up fast with the limited range of headlights and it makes for an energized ride.

As I headed south from Buttonwillow a wonderful encounter was presaged when a group of five great egrets soared overhead in a fallen man formation and brought a graceful close to the day. Night was fully engaged when I hit the foot of the southbound upgrade at the Grapevine and, as anticipated, many of the drivers slowed by five, ten MPH, or even more and our dance to the Tejon Pass Summit commenced. The drivers aware enough to maintain speed with me weaved in and out of the number one and two lanes passing by drivers who refused to acknowledge that they should either move to the right or get firm with the gas pedal. Occasionally some of us would risk being hemmed in by the big trucks to make a right end run by a knot of vigilante drivers.

Shortly after having reached the summit and starting the broken decent through the pass and down to the Santa Clarita Valley is when all the sluggish drivers feel the need to make up for the lost time and barrel downslope and the dance is somehow reversed. As I was bending along a gentle right-hand curve the man-in-the-moon made his appearance; just past full and orange hued with the dissipating smoke of the earlier fire between the north and southbound lanes. I think that he has a bemused, almost concerned cast to his eyes, but this night I may have mistaken his concern with a knowing smirk because as the highway straightened out he slowly dipped behind the mountain and began a game of peek-a-boo that would last until I pulled my Victory into the garage more than an hour later.

At times I could see the glow of his reflection, just the halo of his appearance where, if I’d stood still, he would progressively reveal himself. Instead, with the twists and turns of the road and the uneven terrain he would burst out in full view only to disappear again or peak one concerned eye over a ridge to see how I was doing. Even when I reached the relative flat coming away from Castaic and along the Santa Clarita area he played with me, hide and seek, while staying low in order use the rolling foothills. Along one section the man was behind the wind breaking roadside-trees and appeared as a flip-book action cartoon. After passing through the very tricky intersections of the 5 and 14 highways to the 210 he was a more or less steady companion but still chose to slip behind the overpasses whenever he could.

As I neared home and wound my way through the twisties of the Briggs Terrace area I had to conclude that it was I who hid from him, he with his steady and predictable arc, and me with the fleeting and uncommon path.