night-ride-10 Climbing Mt. Tabor at sunset.

The sunlight is obscene.

It comes on strong in that all-consuming way that lovers do. Blinding. Disorienting. White hot. Dangerous.

We don’t want to fall for it, but we still do.

There isn’t really a choice.  December’s snowfall finally chased us inside onto trainers or rollers and we kept spinning the crank arms over out of obligation instead of joy.

When January cracks open with long, white rays, it’s hard to even know what to do with myself. I pass through the kitchen over and over again, marveling at the perfect tube of luminous winter radiance that is painted across the tile like a force field.

Standing it front of it, with the impossible beam shooting directly into my chest, I can see out the window that I will pay a price for this radiance.

Wind. In loud, cranky gusts.

I set off just before sundown and head east toward the dormant volcano that Portlander’s call Mt. Tabor.  It’s hardly a mountain, but the east wind is blowin’ a gale and the going is slow. 600 feet has never seemed so tall.

There is warm ginger tea in my water bottle and the light turns orange behind me.  By the time I make the first turn to zig-zag up the grade, there are wars in the heavens.  Purple vs Orange!  Pink vs. Yellow!  Epic battles streaked across the west.

Mt. Hood is aglow.  Cars parked in a long line along the side of the road, watching her change colors. The show is over almost before it began.  That’s how sunsets work.  Don’t blink.

The temperature drops as I descend off of Mt. Tabor and head down into SE Portland. I’m moving slowly, coming off the obligatory January Common Cold that seems to hit with uncanny consistency every year.

Even with my nose running like a faucet and the wind forcing me to ride with one shoulder pressed resolutely into the attacking gust, the ride is magical and calming.

Nature’s backdrop shifting.  A storm that is angry but miraculously dry.

In a few months, the hint of spring is going to get cyclists worked into a veritable frenzy. For now, we’ll be quiet and thankful for winter light that pierces through windows, painting force-fields across the kitchen tile. We’ll cut through the cold in long tights and mittens and watch the sun go to bed extra early.