Amisesque Writing about Biking

The raw wind flew over the smooth, albeit scarred, plastic curvature of my helmet. If it were summer, the air would have battled through my hair, finding its way to the exit of the labyrinths of locks, hair knots, and critters. Not in this cold…A blanket of nail biting frost, the cold that makes your body scream, “Move your fucking ass!!” And so I went, pushing myself to the breaking point for every revolution of the back wheel. I have encountered many of such nights, riding my Fuji (God bless you, you 100 dollar speed demon) in the desolate concrete world of 4 o’clock New York City on a Tuesday morning…the city that never sleeps my ass. It’s eerily quiet at that time of night; nothing can be heard except for the blowing wind and the distant cry of a woman being raped. I don’t care. In fact, I love it; the ability to go as fast as I can without fear of having an immigrant cabbie run over me or an innocent leg-user nonchalantly appear right in front of me just to piss me off. I fucking hate walkers while I’m biking. The ground continuously sped by, constantly changing the background to my life: one block after another. I began to play with the painted marks on the pavement. Zigzagging between the intervals of fluorescent lane lines, I tried to slalom a bit too quickly. Next thing I knew it, my front wheel launched me forward. After an extravagant front flip, I landed smack on my back. Oh I forgot to mention, I’m usually smacked during these late night rides. Slowly, my body heated up, sweat drenched clothes began sticking to my skin - Ugh, this is annoying, I truly hate it when it happens – and almost instantaneously, the sweat freezes. I’m in a tropical jungle yet on a vast plain of frozen tundra. The humidity was killing me, I needed to strip naked in that blistering cold.  After that not much happened…I’m actually not too sure about that. The only thing I'm sure of is that I'm the mother fucking speed king of 4 o'clock New York City on a Tuesday morning.