I cycle into Boston daily via some secondary roads through Newton and then onto the bike path into Boston. I cross over the Fiedler foot bridge at the Hatch Shell and through a bit of Boston to work. I'll sometimes ride home and then come back into town doubling my normal mileage because I have a varied work schedule.
I've been a serious cyclist since 1970. Have bicycled across the US twice and Canada once as well as trips throughout New England and Eastern Canada. I have a small cottage in the Berkshire Hills of Massachusetts and occasionally commute the 140 miles from my Newton home to Becket, MA- a beautiful one day ride across almost the entire state. I occasionally mountain bike as well but am not a very accomplished technical rider but I ride some challenging double and single track and often suffer the consequences of my lack of proficiency- usually with a smile on my face.
Every ride for me is a story so I have many. But since Halloween is only a month away here's a scary one. I sometimes teach in the South End of Boston at a private studio and left one of my classes very late at night. As I cycled through the quiet streets past old brownstone buildings the fog was a reminder that Boston is a true seaside city- we don't always see it but on a night like this the air was thick with the dampness and smell of the ocean. It was a night when a kind of apprenhension hung in the air with the mist. I almost made the decision to do the ride home along Commonwealth Avenue into Newton and avoid the bikepath for fear of the lonely stretches where sometimes homeless make camp along the river. I had more fear of the occasional group of teens that prey on the homeless than the quiet, reclusive people that nestle in the bushes under tarps and blankets. I'd never had a problem before though so I chose to ride the seductive winding pavement that promised little bike traffic and better yet, no cars as I would face on Commonwealth Avenue. As I crossed over Storrow Drive on a bicycle overpass that led from the service road behind the distinctly Boston brownstones on Beacon Street I got an ominous chill as I looked over at the path along the river that would be my route home for the next half hour. The river was a black glaze through the fog, perfectly still with an energy that all but pulled me into it. The lighting from the arc street lamps on Storrow Drive created a David Lynch "Blue Velvet" effect that was hypnotic. As I rolled onto the bikepath a man stepped out of the shadows of one of the brick building along the path. He ignored me and I rode on with some relief. As I crossed under the Mass. Ave bridge to Cambridge I was drawn for some reason to stare into the water. A professor at Boston University had recently been found dead in the river- an apparent suicide- only the week before and it had saddened and disturbed me. I was thinking of him when suddenly I saw something in the water. At first I thought I was letting the thought of the professor get the better of me because I was convinced that through the fog at the river's edge I was seeing the top of a man's head at the surface of the water. Not wanting to stop I continued on but the thought was too much and I actually turned around and went back. How ridiculous I thought. No way could it be an actual human being. It was probably a rock or a ball not the top of a man's head. But suppose someone had just fallen in or what if it was a body- could I, should I ignore it? I returned to where I'd glimpsed the shadowy image. As I looked again there was, indeed, something there. I had a small flashlight on my belt and shined it into the water. It did little to comfort me because it only seemed more to be my worse expectation. Then I brought my bike to the edge of the river and shined my bright bike light into the water. Unfortunately, I was met with a gruesome sight. I scrambled up the bank and called the police who were there in minutes though it felt like a lonely hour. After that I was obsessed with staring into the water as I rode along the path and 3 months later found yet another body in the river- this time during the day (and a whole other story). I have since forced myself to not obsess with looking in the water- though admit to occasional lapses. One good thing is that shortly after both of those events I pulled a man out of the water who'd attempted suicide by leaping from a railroad bridge- he broke his leg- and assisted a woman who I found sprawled unconcious across the path (a pedal on her brand new bike had come loose tossing her hard over the handlebars- thank God for helmets).