The nights of insomniacs are long and lonely. Except when you’re biking around Denver.
It was 3 a.m. Wednesday, yet another attempt to kick my Ambien habit, when not even two magazines, a book chapter or C-SPAN had lulled me to sleep. So I hopped on my bike.
By day, I ride like a mom — defensively on side streets and sidewalks, reminding my kids to stop at alleys and look both ways.
But at night, alone, I’m a zigzagger and a jumper of curbs.
There is on any given night a community of city folks cruising in our wakefulness. We’re easy to differentiate from the drinkers riding clumsily home from bars and from the Romeos returning from hookups in their half-sleep.
We wear helmets, for one thing. We bike slowly and aimlessly, often with no hands. We ride to ride, in the middle of the street, headed deliberately nowhere in particular.
It’s tough to do interviews on a bike in the dark. So I opted instead for a casual survey.
“Can’t sleep?” I called out to fellow night riders.
Nope, came their responses in passing.
“Stressed,” said one man on Speer Boulevard.
“Not since my dad moved in with me,” offered another.
A guy on Lincoln Street couldn’t hear my question over the REO Speedwagon blaring from the radio rigged to his 10-speed. He smoked a pipe as he pedaled.
Another rider in pajama shorts stopped his bike near Denver Health, apparently to watch people come and go from the emergency room.
It occurs to me, naturally, that Dan Maes — the Republican nominee for governor — might theorize that we’re part of a United Nations sleeper cell two-wheeling around the big city after hours.
But among insomniacs, there is comfort in numbers. Protected by my Nutcase- brand helmet, I feel better knowing I’m not the only nutcase in Denver who’s unable to sleep. There’s a quiet solidarity as we nod knowingly to one another.
It goes unspoken that Denver’s streets look their finest under the dark canopies of their tall trees. And that the city sounds its sweetest when you can hear the night trains whistle and the cicadas and crickets singing all around. Even on the hottest nights, there’s a coolness in the air (or at least a sprinkler to ride through). It’s an easy city to bike, especially when you’ve been up for 21 hours and don’t have the energy to pedal uphill.
There was a book I loved as a kid about a boy who begged his parents to let him stay up all night for his birthday. I thought of him early Wednesday as I set off on my bike trying to forget how tired I’d be when the sun rose.
I noticed myself noticing the baker arriving for his shift at a bagel shop. And the delivery guy pitching his newspapers perfectly on target. And the police officer patrolling Capitol Hill — far from any halo camera — dutifully keeping the peace.
All was quiet on the streets of our city. And, like in the book, there’s still wonder in staying up all night.
Susan Greene writes Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Reach her at 303-954-1989 or greene@denverpost.com.
