I looked ahead and all I could see was darkness, mostly black but with blues and purples, hiding a swamp and a highway, which I needed to thread myself between to get to the next moment. I could not turn away from the darkness, knowing that soon I would have to jump into a bigger void, a move that would take me far away from Davis, my home of five years.
Last night I found myself in Sacramento at 12:45. The buses back to Davis had stopped running, and Xing (my Miyata 912, outfitted with road rims and aerobars) and I were stuck looking at the Capitol Building without a plan. I had left too late, my friends had dogs and their boyfriends over and I wanted to return home, but it meant something foolish - a night ride 16 miles accross the causeway with no bikelight.
I began without ceremony, even stopping at a gas station with the option to purchase a cheap flashlight, but the meaning of the event started to pull me. I wanted the darkness. I wanted to feel unsafe. I have never broken a bone, I had never taken drugs, I have never gone bungie jumping - these things lacked punishment. These things lacked a cursing period of methodical self awareness. This bike ride would cleanse me, would force to re-evaluate Davis and Sacramento on one of my last days, and would burn into my memory forever.
So I rode. It's normally 16 miles and 75 minutes. This trip took 2 hours. The moon was lit, but the moving vehicles (train included) made it impossible to see consistently and helped as little as possible. As soon as the iris would open a passing train would reduce my visibility, which would reduce my speed, which hardly mattered since I found myself praying that I would not run over a large branch or dead animal, something I couldn't hope to see anyways. And this happened for the entire length of the causeway, darkness upon darkness. Despite constantly being aware and watching the glimmers of the road and railing I could see ahead, I continued threading myself as I thought about it all.
I thought about the number of times I was lucky. The number of times I was greedy. The number of times I was where I shouldn't have been, the times I used the darkness. I used to love riding my bicycle at night, and now it was excruiating. I got away with everything. Almost everything.
My mind drifted to times I could have just made it right by giving something up. I hoarded. Bikes, Music, People. If I was willing to either be completely giving or completely available, I could have had the world. Instead, I spent years apologizing for disregarding the Tragedy of the Commons. I poisoned the well of friendship early with selfish decision after selfish decision, and had finally restored much of it, right before I was set to leave.
I hated leaving Riverside, I baked myself in pre-nostaglia. I never knew failure in Riverside. Everything I applied for, asked for, wanted, I got in Riverside. Except Xing. And that bitterness stayed with me for much too long.
Davis taught me about failure: academic failure, personal failure, community failure. I was still in a darkness, one that had plenty of neon lights in it. I rebounded, but lost alot as well. I found Amy, who I mistreated for too long. She pulled me out the darkness. I became an adult, I became employable, and contributed to the communities I had long leeched.
Now I'm going to Bakersfield. I've agonized over this like nothing in my life. College decisions were easy, Riverside was close to home and was free, Davis had the domes and a new life. I've always taken the path of least resistence. Bakersfield? Nothing was certain. It is darkness, complete darkness. And it's what I'm riding into now.
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