*I started this piece way back in September after the latest shitshow provided by the year 2020. I had aspirations of submitting this to publications, but after some contemplation, I thought it was best to make this available for all, and what better way post this than on election day, 2020. Please enjoy.*
I forge ahead with a slight fatigue in my legs and an
unfamiliar burn in my lungs. The evening air is a comforting sort of warm and yet
is weighted by the unmistakable smoke from wildfires; far and near. It is
September, eight months into the year 2020 and the hazy surroundings and
scorched Northwest earth are just the latest metaphor for a calendar year gone AWOL.
Since relocating in February, living amidst the suburban
countryside sprawl of Lake Tapps, Washington has provided a welcome nightly neighborhood
outlet for this crusty mountain biker. Some rides are longer, some shorter, but
none are any less meaningful than the last. Weary, weak and three days removed
from the most bizarre of weeks encompassing a dangerously close wildfire and
power outages. I venture out into the mystic summer embrace on my hardtail,
looking for clarity in a nebulous atmosphere.
The last burnt orange hue of a stunningly sooty Wednesday
sunset melds with the deep cobalt of another day lost in the abyss of social,
political and climatic chaos. With this creeping darkness begrudgingly
swallowing today’s light, comes the hope of a new day; one without local
wildfires threatening urban landscapes, global pandemics threatening human
lives and a kind of stubborn systemic racism that threatens to choke out the
very equality we all strive so very hard for. But alas, I suppose we can’t have
all that we wish for.
Or can we?
My headlight picks up playful bugs amidst a persistent smell
of acrid smoke, the likely product of a now-locally infamous “Sumner Grade”
fire. A blaze that caused the evacuations of dozens, tore through urban areas
unlike anything anyone on this side of the Cascade Range had seen in some time
and prompted the voluntary evacuations of many others; myself included. To say
I was unprepared for such an unsettling and downright scary ordeal would be in
contention for the understatement of the year and that’s saying something. The
plume of smoke, while no longer visible, has been replaced by a stagnant smog
of ash and burnt dreams which hung over the lake like a squalid blanket. Such
an ominous sight would ordinarily be enough to rethink a neighborhood spin but
if 2020 has taught us anything at all, it is to enjoy what we have in front of
us in the moment because the moments that follow are never guaranteed.
Sweat dribbles past my already-saturated helmet pad and
slogs down my brow, a welcome feeling on this silent, late summer evening. A
friendly wave back from a neighbor tending to her parched flower beds gives me
tangible comfort in an intangible way. The distant greeting in this
tight-knight community is reminiscent of the daily struggle we all face in this
foreign reality of infectious disease, face masks, and distance that is now measured
in six-foot increments. Family seem farther than I could have ever previously
imagined. Friends feel lightyears away - yet reside within shouting distance.
Internal confusion and emotional struggle are no longer just new developments
but rather the new normal in the quarantine age. Yet, with these feelings comes
the affable reality that this too, shall pass. I long for a handshake but a
wave and a smile shall suffice for the time being.
My journey conclusively takes me up Driftwood Drive, along
the outer loop of Driftwood Point. I pass by two homes, separated not by just hedges
but ideals as well. The first, flying a Trump flag proudly from the peak of its
garage. The other, touting a campaign plaque in the front yard that cynically
read: “Any Functioning Adult-2020”. Two family abodes, as far apart as the
coasts that border the United States, and yet, part of the same intimate
lakeside community. As I pedal past, I cannot help but notice the parallels
between these displays and the state of our domestic society. The uncomfortable
division facing our nation is nothing new, but like many facets of life in
2020, it has been thrust to the forefront of our consciousness, whether we were
collectively ready or not. Like any great conflict though, there is always a
solution to be found and the ability to coexist not as divided entities but as
one neighborly tribe, gives me hope for a country that is desperately grasping
for answers to the most troubling questions we’ve faced in years.
As I take one last glimpse across the serene darkness of
Lake Tapps, I turn onto my street and into the driveway. Swampy from the
evening humidity, raspy from the lingering smoke and exhausted from a year’s
worth of feelings and emotions spilled forth in a single neighborhood bicycle
ride. With my steed tucked safely away in the garage, I catch a glimpse of a
small cluster of stars shimmering in the pitch-black sky above me. Against all
odds and beaming like a beacon of hope through the impenetrable night haze, I uncontrollably
smile and stare.
Was it yet another metaphor for the utter unpredictability
of 2020, or was it just coincidence? I cannot say for sure, but if a star can shine
through the heaviest late summer sky, and I can find a certain undeniable, perpetual
clarity from an hour-long bicycle ride, I suppose anything is possible.
Ride on, 2020. What a long, strange trip its been.
