The Morning Owl

Insomnia.  Four syllables which conjure a palpable agony for those that have ever experienced it.  As a high mileage cyclist, I rarely experience this affliction.  Fortunately, I can usually go to sleep on command.  My bouts with the dreaded "I" are the rare occasions where I awaken during the night with my mind resolved that sleepy time is done.  It clinches the victory by spinning rapidly through a myriad of "to dos" for the coming day while suffocating the rest of my mental processing throughput with some irksome, unresolved frustration and/or an unusually creative seed.  Brain engaged, I am vanquished.

Not that this happens often, mind you.  I've really got nothing to complain about when it comes to sleep.  But, when it does happen, it's never on a weekend where I can just turn over and not worry about how much time until the alarm clock goes off.  I'm certain that the work ritual is a key ingredient in the grand scheme.

Somewhere along my serpentine path towards wisdom (or maybe it's just the years racking up), I raised the stakes by developing a bluff and kept at the ready somewhere near my nightstand: "Brain, you think you're so smart waking me up at 1:30AM, do ya?  Well, get on yer commuter gear and let's ride to work--now!  I dare ya!"  It has been quite the panacea, particularly in the winter when chilling darkness and foreboding weather makes lengthy eyes-wide-open time under the sheets seems so...calming...ahh....

This morning, though, the bluff was called.  After a bit of dallying around to delay the inevitable, I found myself kitted in biking gear, astride my fixed gear commuter, and turning the first pedal stroke just before 4:00AM...in a driving rain.

Again, I'm not going to complain here.  I am the early bird and really don't mind taking over as soon as the night owl's shift ends.  The silence of that hour is particularly engaging to me.  Urban society is quite surreal when its denizens are off snoozing, and you feel as if you are the only one outside to experience the absurd serenity.  I forge on and hear the swish of the rain off my tires--and little else.  I take in many more sights of my surroundings, having been unfettered from the overload of dealing with cars around me.  It's worth getting up early for, at least occasionally.

So, while the scenario this morning wasn't particularly novel to me, the next proposition was whether I could complete my entire 15 mile commute route without seeing another pedestrian or bicyclist.  I am continually amazed at how difficult this is to achieve.  There are some truly dedicated early birds that hit the Sammamish Trail, undaunted by weather and darkness.  Perhaps some of them think the same of me as we pass each other.

Today, it all came together and I completed my route "solo".  Well, almost.  While midway up the 520 Trail climb, I spied him.  The hunter.  The night owl who actually was an owl, perched on the chain link fence separating trail from highway.  My flashing headlight must have outed his fine lookout over the unsuspecting rabbit population in the grasses to my right.  Annoyed, he dashed over to a highway sign, and gave me an evil stare.  It conveyed confidence that he knew he could take me on, but that flashing nonsense was just too much of a bother (and perhaps anybody kooky enough to be riding a fixie is a bit too unpredictable).  With an audible sigh, he swooped low over oncoming "traffic" (a single car) on westbound 520.  And I, the early bird, the morning owl, soon was rewarded with the "worm" which was my office cubicle.