A Grayscale Ride

All but the brightest stars had faded out and the moon was chasing a sun that had not yet risen. Color rendering for the landscape was not quite an option; everything was emerging from the dark of a canyon-side home to grayscale. I turned on a small garage light and was treated to a halo of color that only gave definition to a clutter that defies my every attempt to tame it; with a silver bug on the asphalt driveway and a black Victory inside the garage there was only a brief sharpening of the grayscale morning.

 

I looked across the street to where I knew my red Forester was parked and convinced myself that I was seeing the hint of red and a promise of sunlit hues to come. Or, had I not just fooled myself into this with the knowledge that my car is red? Even when I backed the Cross Country down the driveway while pumping the brakes could I not have been seeing a white car reflecting the brake light rather than having the light confirm what I thought I already knew of the car across the street? At this hour of the morning my time would have been better spent getting into the zone of vigilance for the ride rather than those esoteric thoughts of what I know or think I know.

I turned off the garage light and pulled down the door and returned the scene to its black and gray tints, walked down the driveway, and threw my leg over the bike and saddled up. I turned the key and lit up street with a javelin of light and rode through the neighborhood twisties toward a swim and then to a day of work. The headlight was less effective at lighting up the tarmac as it was in providing a cone of revelation for the pallet of colors that the sun would confirm within the coming minutes.

Riding into work allows me to experience the adventure of the journey and to have my day revealed to me rather than act like an automaton behind the wheel while listening as a deranged radio station tries to be relevant and entertain me.

Keep the iron side up and let’s ride!