It usually happens around 10 in the
night. Slowly, one by one, as drops falling from the water tap we all
start crowding Tom's den. Warming up our heads for what's to come is
a ritual we must not avoid. It usually takes some time till the gang
is complete or maybe incomplete, but once ready, we depart for the
night.
Smoothly through the city we surf our
way through the semi empty streets, the short traffic jams and
passers by. Most of them are on their way home, for us, we are on our
way to the skies. We are there to get rid of what the day threw at
us, emancipate our souls from the bad and get rid of those thoughts
that trap us in our minds. We are there to set our spirits free from
everything. We are there to live.
It takes little to reach the base of
the San Cristobal and the only back door we can use to enter the
place. Usually the hype and the warm up makes us reach that point in
no time. Still, we are far to complete our quest, we still need to
avoid the guards that will try to get rid of us and cast us out of
the place.
In pitch black night we start the ride,
sneaking our way through the wannabe gates poorly guarded by a guy
that maybe won't even notice we are there.
Sometimes it may work, sometimes it may not, it will probably depends on the
karma of the riders in the gang. Still, the speculations hits; “is
it the right time to go up?”, “what if the guy is outside?”
“and the pick up?”. The mind trying to play its tricks on us.
Time to shut it down and start the ride.
Covered by the night we start riding
up, in what will be next hour till we reach the goal for the night.
Nobody says a thing. All silent we push our pedals up the hill
protected by the darkness that sometimes, just sometimes, breaks due
to the shiny city lights.
Down there, the city and the lights
that won't break our darkness anymore. We still have to keep pushing
up, and now, try to avoid the pick up that takes rounds from time to
time. They want to cast out the probable intruders that sneaked
through the only back door of the park. They are looking for us.
Covered by the night we make our way
through the park, pushing uphill, alert to any sign of light in case
we have to hide. We have to avoid the pick up that may block the pass
and chase us down all the way to the exit doors. No way we want that.
We are on a mission here and we need to summit.
We may get lucky as most times or we
may not. Usually we reach summit and get our price; shinning lights
all over the horizon. Distant sounds of cars, parties, people, buses,
the monster called city. But the monster is down there and we are up
here with the place only for us. Small tiny people existing down
there not noticing in the monster they are living in, but we can
notice for them. We are surrounded, trapped in the middle of shinny
lights that have no end in the distance.
We are still half the way though. We
still need to go down. Feel the the speed, the wind and the night. No
lights will enlighten the road and show you the way. It's the bike,
your instinct and you. For the new ones it gets hard at the
beginning, some of them get tempted to turn on their lights and go
slower as the way looks completely different once you go down. For
the ones that have been doing this for a while, it's another
successful night in which we got to be free. Far in the distant,
like stars the city lights randomly show up through the trees.
Nothing can stop us now, the pick up, the guards, some dogs, fuck
them off, we already got to the top and we are paid for the job. It's
time to go home. We sneaked in, and we sneak out. We don't really
care anymore though.
We surf the now empty streets on our
way home. We are the owners of the streets as few cars pass by on the
late night streets. Slowly the gang dissolves as everyone takes their
own roads home. It will be till a next night we say, we meet at Tom's
den, where we will all gather to reach the top again.
