Winter bike

Two walls of dark and snowy spruce threes hung over the road that I rode on. The cold air was floating in and out of my lungs. I noted that one of the feets was something cold. It most likely was caused by the development of a hole in one of my boots. Not so good when salt and mud smashed around my legs. A little light from the bike told me that the road was full of slush and dirt. In contrast to the pure snow out in the ditch and up on the threes.

It was frustrating that the road was salted every morning. If there only was some snowflakes, the Department of Traffic was out there with their big monsters, throwing out tons of salt. It was something hysterical by it. A collective anxiety that one tried to cure with salt. The road got so ugly. It destroyed the impression of snow, cold and winter. And my bike got rusty and destroyed.

I had finished the bus. I found out that it was better to use the bike. Everything was sort of tiresome in the bus. Tired faces. Tired sounds. Tired landscapes. A bus driver who never gave any smile (nor did I, actually). The bike gave me time to hide away from all this tiresome. To be alone a bit. Once an elk trampled across the road in front of me. Otherwise it was only me. And the road. And the bike...yes, and cars who came behind me.

I heard the sound of one far behind there. It started as a weak whisper. It increased in strength. The strong light made the surrounding forest to shine. Then a "vosh", and the car was past. The mud splashed on to my boot with the hole.

I had done my best to be seen by the traffic in the darkness. I had a safety vest. Even a safety vest on the backpack. And a reflex around one of my legs. It was shining up and down while my feets pedaled. In addition it was blinking red behind me. I thought that all my lights and reflexes might look as a policeman who waved. it was the only illusion that could make car drivers to slow down.

A car came against me. I turned down my face to avoid the bright light. A new car came behind me. I could hear that the motorist back there had no thoughts about slowing down. Instead he increased his pace. He sputtered up on my side, and squeezed himself between me and the meeting car. The powerful air pressure from well over one ton of steel struck against me. "What the hell" I shouted. But the car was already gone behind a turn.

My back got sweaty. My thighs was aching up a long hill. The cold air made my lungs sore. I was out of the desolated forest and came to an area with houses. The traffic thickened.  A motorist who past me honked aggressively. I came to a roundabout and stared angrily against a motorist who would like to get into the roundabout before me. Then I swung into a calm bike path. I jumped off the bike and walked the final, steep path to the job.