prologue fixed gear #3
the street without looking where they’re going. Best to avoid that crash as much as possible.
Red light on Franklin forces me to turn right.
Fender bender on North 4th pushes me onto the sidewalk for about a block and I nearly plow through a row of daycare kids,
all daisy-chained together, getting escorted to the local playground. Not a good move.
I cut through Monroe Park. That’ll get me a ticket, but it’s early and the cops aren’t even on their second donut yet. Just
me and the homeless people sprawled out on the benches.
Red on Henry Street sends me down an alleyway. I need to find a street behind this building or I’m backtracking and then I’m
royally fucked.
Red on Franklin again.
I need green! Come on, Richmond, gimme those green lights. I know you got ’em . . . I’ll pick up some speed and make up for lost time, as long as I get me some of that green. In the roulette wheel of city life, it’s never about betting on black. It’s always green, baby . . .
Here it is. The best part of my day—
The Dip.
The whole city sinks, a mile-long slope of concrete, giving me the longest drop. About thirty blocks going down, down, all
the way down to Shockoe Bottom.
Into the slipstream. In the void.
The blissful abyss.
I let out a shout, just a quick howl—it’s impossible not to—feeling the wind in my hair, the shrill sting of speed piercing
my eyes, feeling gravity grab hold and drag me along.
This is it. This is the moment. I’m alive. Fucking elemental. One with the wind. Nothing can catch me. Not even the whispers
in my ear, dragging me back into my sadness.
Faster. Faster.
Outrun it all. The voices. The shadows.
Myself.
Faster!
I make it to Main Street with less than ten minutes on the clock. Main is one way heading in the wrong direction, which isn’t
the best, but beggars can’t be choosers. Cary is way too cluttered. All that rush hour traffic, all those suburbanites driving
to work. Main is the only artery clear at this hour because it’s heading in the opposite direction, waiting until the end
of the day when everybody gets off work and heads back home to the Southside.
Red on 9th. Red on 12th.
Jesus, I can’t catch a break this morning. The city’s conspiring against me. I’m trying hard not to take it personally.
There are less than twenty blocks between me and my rendezvous. I’ve got a date with a signature that will have me in Shockoe
Bottom.
Whole lot of cobblestones down in the flood zone, thanks to Richmond keeping its city all swanky and Southern. Got to get
those tourist dollars down here somehow.
Goddamn mottled rocky road wreaks havoc on my tires, but I’ve got no other option. It’s a straight shot and I’ve got less than three minutes to spare.
The light at 13th goes yellow.
Fuck me.
I’ve got enough momentum that if I don’t brake now, I’m skidding. And skidding is not something you want to do on cobblestone.
To hell with that. I need to go go go . . .
I can make it. Beat the light. Get across the intersection before the cross section of cars bleeds into the box. There’s about
three seconds of empty space for me to plow through. These morning commuters aren’t paying enough attention to press the pedal
to the metal the second the light turns in their favor. It’s all mine. I’m going to take it.
The light goes red.
One second . . .
I slip past the last car.
Two seconds . . .
I’m drifting through the intersection, the open terrain of pavement, that emptiness, that void of black asphalt, just about
to make it through to the other side when—
Three—
I feel the clip in my rear tire. I don’t see what happens, but I sense the backside of my bike swerve to my right, like I’m
a tennis ball that just got swatted across the court.
I’m airborne now.
Spinning.
I rotate, still on my bike, turning into the opposite lane so that I can now see the SUV that hit me. Standard black. It’s
there and gone before I can blink.
No—that’s not true. The SUV is still there, skidding to a halt in the middle of the intersection.
It’s me who is there and gone. I’m in some kind of spiral, whirlwinding in this tornado of motion. I can’t lock my eyes onto one spot, I’m spinning so fast. It’s dizzying, the world is blurring, but I can’t close my eyes. I need to witness this. Need to see. What the hell is going to happen to me?
Where am I going to go?
I finally let go of my bike, the two of us separating in the air, me heading in one direction and my bike gyrating off in
the other.
I feel so light. So vulnerable. A butterfly freshly wrenched from its cocoon, all wet and tender. Without my bike, I don’t
have anything to protect me. To root me to this world.
What’s happening to me?
I’m flying, that’s what.
Soaring.
Gravity can’t get a grip on me anymore. I’m ascending. I’m outside the laws of gravitational states. Every particle attracts
every other particle in this universe with a force that is proportional to the product of their mass, but nothing is attracted
to me now.
I am beyond the laws of our world.
I am gone. Long gone. And I never wear a helmet.
Why start now?