My friends were concerned about my bike ride home, I was not. The
night had warmed up, no longer the 20 degrees the morning brought.

I rode into my secret world.
With my bike.

Along the bike path, and up the hill.
Buchannan Street. Up the hill north of Columbia Pike.

I passed a sight beneath the street lamp light.
Five perfect logs with straps stapled on like they were suitcases. I
keep on going, with a stomach full of food and wine.
Wow… I must tell my friend Roni about that fantastic “trash pile” of
logs with straps like little gifts to the world who might pass by.

Where am I ? Yes… between South 6th and 5th on Buchannan.

Keep on going.. up the hill. No.. I must turn around. I must
sacrifice the uphill for downhill, which is so hard to do. I have to
witness the special passing gift.

Yes… they were what I saw. Five logs in a row with handles stapled on.
I threw one on the back of my bike, so I have some kind of proof.
I rode back up the hill, in the opening where the trees separate and
the light of the sky finds me, and there ahead was another bicyclist
riding past.
We were alone at 10pm, riding in the dark and passing in the night.
I waved, she, SHE said HI… and we knew we were part of the secret
night time bike club.

Cynthia Connolly