Home by midnight.

I wanted to be home by midnight, and here I am. In the last few weeks, the dead of winter set in after a silly tease of a warm spell. The oldtimer in me thinks that it comes later each year, and misses the predictable winter rhythms of passed years (that I probably remember incorrectly).

Weekend slush froze hard and the streets laid out dry, so I decided to take a bike to the little party I wanted to hit. A steady stream of thirtieth birthdays lay ahead, and I'll try my best to pay due respects at each.

I rode Black Prince, a late 1940's Humber I put together this summer - perfect for short haul occasions. This bike floats - you waft along and cut the wind, the night shedding herself as you pass. I pedaled in the right groove, and the rhythm played a perfect harmony of my waxing, peaking and waning in the ghosted orange of the streetlights.

That's about as good as it gets on a Tuesday.