A Confluence

Bike commuting on the Sammamish Trail is one thing I know I'll miss once the opportunity finally moves on.  Last night was another unexpected example that validates how special it can be.  The magic moments usually happen between mileposts 2 and 7.  Most area riders know the stretch of pavement very well: the strand of rural trail that follows the Sammamish Slough from north Redmond until Woodinville's Wilmot Park.  The path is unremarkable on its own: generally straight and smooth and very flat.  But it is where the impact of civilization is perhaps its least intrusive.  In the darkness especially, this area is often a rewarding plunge into solitude.

After an action-packed, 11 hour day in the office, I reached this section at 7pm, heading north.  The "rush hour traffic" of bike commuters and after-work exercisers had mostly completed their trail ventures, rendering it wide open (and self-policed).  After such a long day, I was in no mood to put the hammer down despite the appeal of the open trail.  The weather was dry and calm--a mild mid-40s evening (yes, bare leg mania continues).

The final ingredient in the evening's recipe was a little more difficult to recognize.  It started as a nagging shadow of myself generated from a bright light source.  The most common explanation here is a bicyclist gaining on me with an overly-bright LED headlight, announcing their oncoming presence by darkening my forward path with my own image.  This time, it was not the case.  A quick look skyward resolved the mystery.  A high, bright moon overhead was the illumination source, shining through a Swiss-cheese blanket of thin white clouds which provided reflections of urban light as backfill.  I switched off my own LED headlight to enjoy the natural illumination.

The next 20 minutes of the confluence of weather and fortuitous timing flushed away the day's woes.  Traveling at 18 mph in the darkness attuned me to the subtleties of the route that a headlight overwhelms.  The saddle and the bike itself disappear.  My vision is more sensitive, easily catching movement of birds and animals that have seen me long before I come onto them.  The sound is only what I produce, passing through the still air with an efficient, satisfying whoosh.  I am enveloped in serenity and marvel at how close it is to my home.

The confluence eventually ends and I must switch back on my headlight to safely complete the rest of my journey.  But I am refreshed.