While stationed in Jacksonville, I became fanatical about riding my bike to work. Like, I would only ride my bike to work. Part of this was practical--I was making just enough money to spend all of it. I was paying $425 a month for a studio apartment in a slummy side street of a sort-of downtown neighborhood and from my door to the squadron flight line was exactly ten miles.
If I caught all the stoplights and the drawbridge was down, it took 30 minutes.
I had to be at work at 7am. What I remember the most about those bike rides early in the morning was how oppressively humid it was. It would be dark out still. The ride home was hotter, sweatier. One time I rode home and cracked open my last beer and drained it, thinking nothing had ever tasted as good to anyone ever.
I remember leaving some nights, after working late or standing watch, and seeing the fog hang in the streetlights. And me, mashing away on my bike, my clothes soaked through with sweat, still figuring things out.
Because at this time, I was falling out of love with a girl that I had convinced myself was the only girl I could ever love and she was far away. At the same time, I was exhausting myself at work. Saturdays I would wake up with my legs feeling heavy and sore. I exclusively fueled with turkey sandwiches, carrots, hummus, and trail mix.
Sometimes I would feel confused and sad and alone, but mostly those feelings were comforting, I can't explain it better than that. I would be gone on various training assignments, and one time I came back to find that in early November, the heat had broken. I toughed it out for a few more weeks. I went underway in December and came home again to find it colder. Almost as immediately and committed as I began, I stopped riding my bike to work.
If I caught all the stoplights and the drawbridge was down, it took 30 minutes.
I had to be at work at 7am. What I remember the most about those bike rides early in the morning was how oppressively humid it was. It would be dark out still. The ride home was hotter, sweatier. One time I rode home and cracked open my last beer and drained it, thinking nothing had ever tasted as good to anyone ever.
I remember leaving some nights, after working late or standing watch, and seeing the fog hang in the streetlights. And me, mashing away on my bike, my clothes soaked through with sweat, still figuring things out.
Because at this time, I was falling out of love with a girl that I had convinced myself was the only girl I could ever love and she was far away. At the same time, I was exhausting myself at work. Saturdays I would wake up with my legs feeling heavy and sore. I exclusively fueled with turkey sandwiches, carrots, hummus, and trail mix.
Sometimes I would feel confused and sad and alone, but mostly those feelings were comforting, I can't explain it better than that. I would be gone on various training assignments, and one time I came back to find that in early November, the heat had broken. I toughed it out for a few more weeks. I went underway in December and came home again to find it colder. Almost as immediately and committed as I began, I stopped riding my bike to work.
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