It's Almost Easy to Forget Where you Are.

A nearly unprecedented thing happened this morning. I woke up 15 minutes before my alarm went off and actually got up. It was strange that I had woken up this morning, after all, it was only 4:45 and I hadn’t managed to fall asleep until after midnight. I used the opportunity to wolf down some Clif Shot Blocks and drink some water.

It was easy to get out for my ride this morning. All of my clothes were already laid out, my water bottles were filled and ready to go, I had already changed out the lenses on my sunglasses, and my lights were mounted, and fully charged. The only hitch that I had was getting my heart rate monitor tracking.

After warming up and stretching out I got on the road about 5:15. At that time the sunrise is still about an hour away and on this particular morning the nearly full moon had set several hours earlier. Those of you who have ridden a bike in the dark know who I was feeling. My entire world was reduced to what was visible inside the small cone of dim light coming from my handlebar.

I was alone save for the unseen but ever present bats swooping constantly above me and the occasional bus rumbling by me taking workers to dining facilities, construction yards, or guard posts.

I rolled on silently, listening to the sounds of the night interrupted only by the crunch of sand under my wheels and the swish of my shorts on the saddle.

That’s when it happened.

Within that fairly confined world that consisted simply of the sounds around me and the relatively small area encompassed by my light, I forgot where I was.

I was just happy to be outside, flying along under my own power. It was wonderful.

As you might imagine, this didn’t last long. In no time I was within a stones throw of the outer perimeter. The yellow-orange lights illuminating the concertina wire-topped wall. These blooming, necessary evils adding to the tiny sliver that had been my world just moments before.

The quiet crunch of my tires was eventually overwhelmed by the diesel roar of heavy trucks, the unmistakable clank and squeal of tracked infantry fighting vehicles, and the strangely beautiful and comforting banshee scream of an M1 Abrams tank engine at idle.

The illusion was shattered. I knew, I felt, and I could see, in stark relief where and when I was.

You know what though, it didn’t matter.

I was just happy to be outside, flying along under my own power. It was wonderful.