A LIGHT CAN NOT BE BRINGED TO YOU
YOU CAN’T BRING LIGHT
Richard J. Cunningham
You can’t bring a flashlight if you want to ride along with us. I was expressing my opinion to a man in his 30s who repeatedly told me that he doesn’t need his high-powered lighting system to bail out in technical sections. It takes 20 minutes for our eyes adjust to low lighting. Everyone will go blind if you turn on the Night Rider just once. You can either put it back in your truck, or you can find another group of riders. ?
Although he was friendly, it was obvious that he hadn’t been on a moonlight trip before. We were veterans. Our mixed group of mountain bikers meets at a secret location three days before the full moon. This is where we spend four hours of nighttime fun. We stick together and don’t bring lights.
Two men refused to give up their Night Sun units on a particular night, resulting in the tough stance on artificial lighting. All was well until the jerks switched on their high beams when the group entered a steep fireroad descent. Three riders fell unconscious from the bright spots and crashed their heads out. The jerk boys laughed at it, not realizing that they were responsible for the incident.
His truck door slammed shut, and the engine started to roar. He walked out of the lot with a chirp from his off-road tires. Five remaining mountain bikers, despite being overcome by negativity, silently mounted up to ride off the blacktop into a stand full of cottonwoods. We would not see pavement again until well after midnight.
We reached the top of the first climb without a single word being spoken. We climbed up onto a massive slab of buff-colored, sandstone and removed layers of clothing to prepare for the climb. There were many depressions in the rock where, only 100 years ago, Native American women made bitter flour from acorns. The moon was rising well above the mountains. The moon was bright enough that you could see the colors in the rocks, and leaves. The South was being flooded by clouds. I was wondering if it would have been a good idea to bring a light.
The climb followed a long ridge which intersected with the Santa Ana Mountain chain, above Orange County, California. Below us, streetlights flowed in orderly rows to the Pacific Ocean, where cargo ships and oil platforms were the only distinctions in an ocean of ink black. The nine o’clock hour was marked by a bouquet of fireworks at the heart of the metropolis. The muffled explosions could be heard fifteen miles below.
As I sat on a boulder in the dark shadows that made it look like a huge lizard, I counted the riders who appeared above the grade. We had somehow gained a man. Where did this extra man come from? I asked Patricia. ?Or, am I hallucinating?? ?Thats Frank,? Pat said, with a devilish smile, « That’s Frank. » ?
« This should be good, »? I smiled half-smile. I took a sip from my CamelBak, and then rolled out. I timed my exit perfectly to ensure that Frank and me would never meet face-to-face. After ascending the canyon’s walls in a series of switchbacks that looked like vultures, we climbed the opposite wall the same way. We finally made it up the steep, slick rock to signal the end of our last major climb. The clouds had moved. As we began to ascend gently on a double track, wisps of fog swarmed at us towards the prominent peak that marked our halfway point.
There was no breeze, just one owl calling and the crackle from plastic food wrappers breaking the stillness. Frank, I’m sorry. I replied. I said. Moonlight rides are known for trading food. ?No thanks.? Frank managed to crack a genuine smile. ?No harm done. I forgot to bring my lights. I have never ridden at night without my lights. It was just impossible for me to believe that you could see so clearly. ?
We didn’t, either. I replied. The entire city was covered by the marine layer below us. The clouds swam against the mountainside like a silver sea, a thousand feet below. The sky above was clear and blue-black. The moon’s brilliance obscured even the most brave stars. I stared at the moonlight as it reflected in my eyes, as my friends pointed and whispered on the edges of the helicopter pad.
« Come on, next month, »? Frank didn’t even notice what I was saying. I can’t promise it will be as good. I’ve never seen such a beautiful night. ?
?No,? Frank mumbled as he crossed the edge. ?
