The fascination of riding a borrowed bicycle

Last night I rode a borrowed bicycle through Parma.  I had just finished dinner.  I was making my way back home slowly.  Cobblestone roads and brick laid sidewalks shaped the ancient city.  I stuck to the sides of buildings as much as possible, trying to avoid Fiats and Mopeds.  

Much of Italian city structure is tiny.  The roads are small. The cars are small.  The neighborhoods are small, and well defined.  It is a stark contrast to Colorado.  We have pick-ups and Main Streets. We have bike paths and asphalt.

My borrowed bicycle was around thirty years old.  It had no shocks. The seat was hard as stone.  I rode over the brick road-edge constantly bobbing up and down.  Every ten meters there would be a patch of loose bricks.  I would roll over them and they would click individually.  The sound was light, hollow, and peculiar; click-click-click.

The sun had set as I finished dinner. At that point it was an early twilight.  The clouds to the west were backlit and beautiful over the dark blue sky.  One patch of clouds was shaped into choppy sections.  They had equal gaps between them.  The lengths well defined, and controlled.  I remembered Kevin telling me that structure was rare. It was special somehow.  I didn’t remember why though.  

There was a soft breeze.  The air was more chilled than it had been in weeks. I breathed fresh, blue air.  The buildings were lightly painted, they had dark shutters.  Baby blue, newborn pink, faded yellow, accented with dark green windows.  It was beautiful.  I relaxed and rode slowly.

My ass hurt.  The bumpy roads and the stiff seat of the bicycle were not built for comfort.  

I thought about where I was.  It still catches me sometimes.  I ride a bicycle through Parma, Italy, and it seems quite normal. I listen to the click-click-click of worn down bricks.  The ancient buildings of far dead generations surround me.  The people walk briskly through the town. It feels so average, but so extraordinary.

I woke up after it rained last night.  The overcast sky hides the sun.  I dislike that sun some days. When I need to be outside it wears me.  The heat weighs me like a hot, wet blanket.  But today it is hidden.  The rain cleared the air around Parma.  I can see far.  The sunrise was sharp today.  It was chilly with my window open.  I put my sweater on for the first time in a month.

I sleep on the fifth floor of an apartment complex.  It is in the city center.  The orange tops of buildings speckle my view.  I can see far to the east.  Two trees are just as tall as me here, in my room.  They are twisted, green leaved trees.  The tops are open, and you can see between the branches easily.  

Five birds landed in those trees this morning.  They sat speaking, hopping from branch to branch.  Some would reach out, and snap off a baby branch.  They flew off to continue some nest construction.  They hopped off their branch, dove for a second, then opened their wings to catch the air.  I wonder if they get a stomach dropping feeling.  They must be used to falling by now.  Do they enjoy flying anymore? Or are they used to that as well, and it is boring like driving on the highway.  Maybe it is boring like riding bicycles; like jumping of a diving board;  like sprinting through a field.

Maybe it is normal like walking through a beautiful city, and at certain moments they are reminded how fantastic life is.  The rush of air sounds just right, and they are again fascinated by the simplest act of their lives.