Daytime Crickets
Our bikes croaked like daytime crickets. We steered closer and closer to each other before drifting apart again, trying to hear the tinny sound of music out of a phone. Pulling away from gravel, that scary sleet which if touched may swing the back out from under you, steering towards the paved parts of a rural road. An electric display counts up and up, plateaus and then plummets down right as my confidence wavers. Thank god for the invention of lithium-ion batteries, because my legs and these hills would not have made good friends otherwise. Google maps made 2.7 miles seem like a questionable decision, always auto-picking driving, almost saying, “Are you sure you wanna bike?” A far call from physical navigation; the opinion-less sheet of paper. Long gone are my days of BMX-ing up and down Ventura Boulevard, trying to find something interesting to take part in. I take the Gladstone line to Thom’s now; I’ve stopped looking, and starting making more.
My friends and I packed up our bags a couple days ago and through a long string of texts I explained how and when to get on what and which seemingly endless New Jersey Transit Train to meet Ava and I in Jersey. Moving to New York was intensely invigorating, and for this reason I try and leave it at least once a month: Coffee is delicious, but your bowels suffer. Ava and I bought dunkin for everyone, and after what I heard was a debateful train ride the three of them got off and remembered what a town looked like. Not having known that dunkin would be brought, their holy experience had just reached the sublime. Matt ran up to the car and hugged me through a window, “This is amazing. This is beautiful. Oh my god. I'm so happy.” I pulled through to the right of the roundabout. Wyatt and I had decided later that week that the most exciting and fun part about living in New York is leaving it. Summit, New Jersey is a great small town, with at least 3 pizza restaurants, and a dunkin donuts visible from the train station. It’s a proud town. We piled our gear into the little truck cab, shoving pink frosted and coffee rolls down our throats. Ava plays music, the kind that makes us all feel 12 again, singing out youtube hits. Its funny being raised on youtube and then having equal opportunity for nature, because in almost all cases, the 5 of us would have rather gone and played, making up our own worlds to explore. I think that still applies.
I drive over the cattle rod gate, past the sheep and goats, past the lines of trees, past the lights and sounds, towards the country, towards the house. Michael clamours his guitar out of the Jeep, yelling to Wyatt to get his bag. “I’ll get it later!”
We spent the evening cooking, for much longer than we should have needed to, but we are still young adults after all. 2.5 packets expired orzo, 2 cans of peeled tomatoes, 1 can tomato paste, oregano, salt, pepper, oil, vodka, heavy cream, chicken, shake ‘n bake, eggs. It was the best pasta we had all month. Time went slow, and the hours between afternoon and night stretched long enough for activity, for talking, for relating. Something I have noticed in the last couple months is that all my friends, all my favourite people, take great delight in telling stories. Full length tales from their recent lives. Who they met where, what ridiculous outcome their small idea grew into, why they brush their teeth before washing. It’s a game; we take turns telling tales, and everyone listens so intently. That is how we spent our hours that weekend. There was a stillness in the air, some sort of molecular, palpable difference in vibration. Probably in the nose. It was easy being out here, in nature, in the country. Our bodies need it, like a chick returning to the nest. The mind needs the city the body needs the country.
Turning a curve down a hill, the wind rushing at my fingertips, flying my braids in its folds, those same daytime crickets singing their song, I take a foot and point it in the wind. I push against the force, moving closer, then pulling away again, feeling the tension and release. I clench my toes, feeling one pop, I smile, balancing my body back to the center of the bike. I sit up, bum rising, legs outstretched. “Left up ahead!”
