Mark McGuire - Acquaduct [mp3]
We rode our bicycles to the other side of town, taking the Greenway through the heart of Minneapolis and crossing the bridge designed specifically to assist cyclists, it’s cable suspensions merging lines into the purple sky above. Sitting upon a bench on the Sabo Bridge, we smoked a cigarette together feeling the rush of traffic gust bustling wind upward as we looked out at the darkened city below us. There were lights on in some of the homes and inside there were things happening that we could not understand, nor see. The Minneapolis skyline held high in the air looked back at us as if sentient, the offices illuminated for no particular reason appearing as if a million eyes. If indeed the skyline were able to gaze, no doubt the shifting colors atop Target Plaza represented the frontal cortex of our beloved city, it’s matter changing before our eyes as it considered those things occurring throughout.
Later, we found ourselves together with others at the VFW drinking whiskey and PBRs. We took our leave to the Hexagon and walloped a good time upon the slippery, beer stained floors and then we left together, the two of us assembled upon our bicycles tracing our steps through Minneapolis and resting again on the bridge just to think. Riding the Greenway this late is said to bring danger but not on this night. The snow was falling heavily but beautifully, with no wind and little sound otherwise at 2 AM, my friend and I were able to ride freely without cold or worry or threat of injury. We would fall from our bicycles in the slickness of the snow and crash softly into the tufts of white flakes billowing from underneath our heated bodies our bikes sliding across the surface and ourselves rolling not because of force but because of fun.
We exited the Greenway at Nicollet Avenue and biked directly down the middle of the road all the way to 22nd Street. The road was emptied but illuminated brightly by streetlights and Christmas decorations strung from every lamp post and otherwise, lights twinkling in a surreal orange glow set against the purple and the snow blinding white directly into our eyes. We rode down Nicollet Avenue without our hands and even there we crashed safely into the road, singing songs as we descended into the soft embrace below.
And when we arrived home, we wondered if it should end as we smoked a ceremonial cigarette on the porch of Garfield. We wondered if this were our one and only opportunity to enjoy the glory of such a remarkable ride and we wondered if it were time we did that again. Stubbing out our cigarettes he said to me, “Maybe we should just accept that there will never be again.” We went upstairs into the dark lair of Garfield, a fog of smoke seemingly awaiting our arrival and cartoons projected onto the window curtains and we knew then that indeed, it will never be again.
Mark McGuire is a rhythm and blues band from Cleveland. The featured song is from the album A Pocket Full of Rain. Purchase the music at Pizza Night Tapes.
