A Comm Ave. Bomb

Crisp autumn air steals the soul. The shard like wind slaps my face as I step out onto Washington St. in Brighton at the intersection with Comm Ave. I squeeze my helmet down tight and eyeball the traffic flow. At the moment it opens up I mount my ragged Univega and pump my crank, steaming across to hang my left toward Boston. A couple quick breaths to center myself and the road drops away, I drop with it. Speed gathers around and in me. Gravity doesn’t pull me, I’m chasing it. The first of many more lights rushes toward me green and friendly. I grin and drop through it. My chest beats in time with my feet, my cadence is roaring. The next light hoves into view at the base of a steep drop, it goes yellow then red. I judge the little maroon four door, staring right into it, into the driver’s face. A flurry of action and the intersection is mine the road evens out as if for me, for my reward. I sway easily around in my lane and on toward the congestion of Harvard St. I wind to the dotted white line in anticipation, keeping my cadence up, holding on to my well earned momentum. The lights are red both ways and the little white man is flashing at all corners. I jump out of traffic, inches from someone I can barely see and whip into the open space someone howls at me and I glide on like the prick I am. The next drop is an easy one and I take the breather to roll up my sleeves and undo the top buttons on my jacket. My core temp is rising, and sweat is beginning to dew on me. I pump on, swaying down the hill. I hit a tricksy intersection, the big turn, the light is red and not calling my name but it’s easy to fold into the traffic rushing in from North Beacon. I slide right in, bullying for space and then taking a lane, stomping on my pedals, barely touching my saddle. A huge pickup lays on its horn behind me again and again and in that second I fly left to the dotted white around a little hatch back and pass it leaving them both at the light. I casually take another intersection. Around this bit of Comm Ave. Boston goes flat and I coast, free, soaking in the sun and that crisp autumn air.