Always Chasing

I guess it might have been Judy Garland who first sang I'm Always Chasing Rainbows. Sort of appropriate, i suppose, given her Wizard of Oz background. But her is not the version of the song that i am familiar with, no the version i first took notice of was found on the album Alice Cooper Goes to Hell. Technically, it is not a song i have spent much time thinking about, and after listening to the album way back when, i probably thought it an oddity, and thus in some strange way especially appropriate to the man doing the singing.

But then came the latest "winter" (if winter it can be called) season when the only weekday riding takes place during a weeknight. Anyway, the idea that I'm always chasing that merge point, the point where those two parallel bike lane lines meet in the distance, reminded me of the song. Funny thing is, if not for the early darkness i probably would not even consider the fallacy of chasing a non-existent point in the distance; illuminated, they have an entirely different appearance than they do in daylight, and the awareness of them is heightened.

Aiming straight up between parallel lines, stretching out to a merging point which never seems to be reached. Gliding through a warp tunnel with deceptive speed; impenetrable voids along the sides seep into my eyes turning blue to black. It is easy to become immersed, to sink deep into the black, float off the bike, lose sense of direction. The void no longer seeping, but now flowing into eyes, overwhelming, overflowing and spilling out. Something snaps though, a rubberband against arm. Maybe it was the sharp snap of a dog. Maybe it was something dull, the muted thud of a muddled conversation, an invisible mouthpiece off to the side, and a reflexive blink, blink, or a vague memory to keep the eyes moving. With that, disembodied lights ahead dance from right to left in rhythmic patterns. Sometimes strings of orange, glowing pumpkins (good for two holidays, not one), crack the void  

Speed may not be the only thing deceptively measured, so might distance, and i resort to measuring space by counting the zig-zag lighting flashes of spaced out street lights, and passing through their hoods of light, brief moments when time slows to match the reality of slowly turning cranks. The moment is brief however, and reentering the void the wheels shoot forward again as if pushed out by the light behind. It does get tiring chasing that distant point where those two white lines merge. It is hard to say just how long, how many years i have been doing just that. Sometimes i will see a flashing light up ahead, right at that point, and think that some cyclist, some lucky duck did it, somehow managed to reach that point. But for me, the chase continues, a victory forever eluded.