Every moment here seems to drip with purpose, refraction, emotion, and color. Work is imminent so play comes with a sense of urgency.
Riding at night is a little creepy. Sound is amplified. Reflections in the forest send electricity into my limbs; cows become mountain lions; the creek rushing under the bridge sounds like a moose crashing out of the willows; off camber turns feel like falling off the edge of the world; picking lines is mentally taxing. How can something that scares the s*** out of me be so meaningful and enjoyable? Because night riding is cheating time. It feels like being 11 years old on a summer night playing with my brother, sister, and cousin out of the yard, a little farther from the house than my grandma was comfortable with; like sneaking out in high school to TP that bratty bully's house.
As my lights reflect off wet sage I realize that every day here is precious.
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