Night Bike
I joined a band recently. Not a rock band but a band band - with clarinets and trombones and piccolos. The type of music I haven’t played since I graduated high school over 20 years ago.
Once a week, the Sunset Community Band squeezes into an elementary school band classroom, 40 or so adults crammed into chairs meant for much tinier humans — luckily since I’m in the percussion section, I stand, so my back doesn’t suffer the indignity. While we rehearse, I alternate between feeling very confident and being totally lost, but I have a blast the whole time.
By the time rehearsal ends, the sun is long gone. Out comes my gear. A wool beanie, protection against the cold of the night. A yellow reflective vest that matches my neon yellow helmet. Sometimes, gloves or an extra layer of clothing, depending on the thickness of the fog. I pack up my bike bag with my sticks and sheet music and tambourine, and hit the road.
The streets are quiet at this time of night. Sometimes it’s foggy, and the glow of the streetlights is misty and soft. I ride up the gentle slope of Kirkham before turning on to 20th and then cutting on a path through Golden Gate Park.
The first time I biked through Golden Gate Park after rehearsal, it was an especially foggy night. The park was silent - devoid of cars or people. It was downright spooky — I half expected supernatural beings to slither out from behind every lamp post. I pedaled home in record time.
But now I’m used to the dark; we’re not friends exactly, but we’re good acquaintances. The first road through the park is uneven; my tambourine jangles with every bump and pothole. When I turn onto JFK Promenade, the pavement smooths. I’ll occasionally see another biker’s lights from the other direction, or pass a jogger.
But mostly I have the dark road to myself until I get to 8th Ave. Then the lights and activity pick up. I pass by the roller rink, where even at this time of night, skaters are grooving to the music under multicolored lights. Lights are on at the Conservatory of Flowers too — this week, swirling blobs of pink and purple made the building glow. At the edge of the park are over a dozen tennis courts, lit up like a movie set. By the time I bike by, a bored parks employee is announcing “last call” and players are clearing the courts.
I leave the park and continue on to the Panhandle. The path slopes gently downhill - I barely touch my pedals. But I do tap my brakes often. The path is twisty and the tall trees that create soft dappled light during the day block out the streetlamps at night, making it hard to see the curve of the pavement — and pedestrians. Safely out of the Panhandle, I begin the short climb up to Alamo Square and the thrilling, steep downhill back home.
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