Concerning Early Mornings

In my youth, I was unapologetically nocturnal, which predilection was well accommodated for some time by my job waiting tables. My usual routine was to work from 4:00 p.m. to 12:30 a.m., then ride my bike into Manhattan (work was in Brooklyn) and carouse until around 5:00. This allowed me the lyrical opportunity to stumble home just as dawn was extending her rose-red fingers across the Brooklyn sky, and was made all the more delightful (in my mind, anyway) by the fact that in the lot behind my building there was an actual rooster in residence, which would frequently be crowing as I got into bed. As far as I'm concerned, that was the life, and I think back on it fondly (except for the no money, the busted-down apartment, the dead-end job, and the frequent bouts of crushing, booze-soaked loneliness; but I digress).

There was also a time in my younger days when I worked the morning shift as a bike messenger, from 7:30 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. Now, I should say that it wasn't a bad job, hours notwithstanding. I worked for a color printing lab, so I drew an hourly salary, had a warm office with free coffee to take refuge in between runs, and was additionally blessed because the manager who frequently ran the shop when the owner was out had a side gig as a purveyor of medicinal herbs, and was a generous man by disposition (if you catch my meaning). All of that said, I recall those early morning starts as something of an ordeal, especially in winter, when I had to start my eight-mile commute in the cold, slushy dark.

The combination of my night-loving nature and my experience at the messenger job left me with the firm conviction that people who get up before they have to for the purpose of engaging in any physical activity other than coitus are fools. But the time must come, I suppose, to put aside childish things, including rigid beliefs about how best to live one's life (I used to hate animal abuse, for example, but now that I'm married with kids, I kick puppies all the time). So today, at the tender age of 31, I fully abandoned my 21-year-old self's abhorrence for needless early rising and got up extra early so I could ride my bike from New Haven to Bridgeport instead of taking the train.

And you know what? It was great. Sure, it was cold, but I was mostly pretty comfortable (except for my toes; Christ, my toes were cold, even with the thicker socks I picked out for the occasion. I need to do a separate post like yesterday's gloves post about what to do to keep feet warm when riding in winter). And certainly, it was dark, which is a little scary on the busy-ish state highways between New Haven and Bridgeport (Rte. 162 and Rte. 1, in this case). But it wasn't that busy at 6:15 a.m., and the dark was kind of cool, because day was just breaking off to my left over the Sound, so when I rode through a wooded area or a valley, it would seem like night, and then when I crested a hill or caught a view of the water, the sky would be on fire and beautiful. And when I got to work in Bridgeport, I felt energetic and healthy, which is actually sort of a nice feeling. Also, there was this view:


(You should definitely click on this picture to see the larger version.)