Austin, TX

Thursday

-Every so often I hear the voices. “Hard left. Swoop right. Steep drop off. River crossing. Pedal pedal pedal.” Branches claw into my shins with every corner I swing wide on. The voices are becoming less frequent and more distant. Soon all I am hearing is heavy breathing and repetitious pieces of Dosh songs buzzing playing through my mind with each rotation of my cranks like an untamed music box.

-The two of us are sitting on the front porch swing of a house we’ve never been to. The address is 2121 but looks like 2727. We could very well be sitting on the porch swing of a stranger we aren’t supposed to be meeting, but the closed curtains have a welcoming stitching into the bottom hem and the worn Welcome mat doesn’t look too threatening. Worst case scenario, cookies. Pottery remnants perfectly scattered about the yard as urban artifacts, toppled handmade pots holding spices and seasonal flowers. A car pulls into the driveway. We exchange pleasantries. Moments later, between tour busses and cabs, my handle bars collide with the mirror of a waiting vehicle. I gesture an apologetic wave and continue on. The city is a swirl around us. Rickshaws overloaded with passengers. Haircuts with tour badges line the sidewalk, ironic mustaches swoon over acoustic guitars being played in outdoor cafes. I am blocking neon colors and melodies mingling in the turn lane, attempting to focus on the wheel in front of me and one pedal stroke at a time.

-The one person I know in the room exchanges only silent glances at me from behind the long grey hair of an aged indie rock guitar player that has attached to him. I nod. There are no words. Having helped an exiting band carry gear out of one venue into the next, we were able to skip the hoards of folks waiting on the sidewalk. Four nods from security, two unclasped velvet ropes, fifty-some stairs, and three dark hallways later, we’re on a rooftop. Drinks are free. The music is mediocre, conversation is weak, but for this moment, we are something- someone, no one in the room knows quite what. Our shock and discomfort in unfamiliar territory leaves us interpreted as untouchable and mysterious. In no time we’re holding samplers.