I oftentimes (see here and here) enjoy my commute. But yesterday was special. Last evening I experienced one of the most serene and satisfying ends to my work day ever. I couldn’t have planned it even if I had wanted to because such rides just happen and I consider myself lucky if I recognize the moment before it’s gone.
The sky had gone dark and a light snow was falling. This snow was perfect, steady enough to make the city go quiet – they way the city does during a snowfall – but not so heavy that my commute became treacherous. It was cold out, and sure, I wanted to get home after a day of work but still, I took my time. Caution was in order because the Cherry Creek Trail at this time of year is still icy in spots. As I watched the strobe of my headlight illuminate they way ahead – a sign here, cracked pavement there – I imagined the numerous patches of ice I would encounter; frozen, thawed and re-frozen, filled with rutted, wandering tire tracks hidden under an inviting, dusting of white. Challenging, because the conditions presented a stong incentive to explore, to blaze a trail. I’m a kid no longer, but I still love leaving tire tracks in the snow and contemplating those left by people who’ve passed through ahead of me.
Later, once I’d made my way home successfully, routinely, I realized that for the entire ride I hadn’t heard the blaring of a single car horn.
Is that even possible?