It was past 9 pm. Dark. Streets only lit up the flickering street lamps. They led the way as promised.

I was delighted by the music pulled along by bike trailers—seeing fellow cyclists help push the music up hills. The neon lights—some spinning amused me. Then there was the steady descent where I decided to race down—fast. The cold wind of the night was forgotten as I pumped down the hill, not caring how much I was weaving, drifting into the opposite lane. No brakes, no stopping.

“That was the best ride ever,” I declared as I pulled into civic center.

So in the morning, I decided that I wanted to do it again. But this time, not surrounded by packs…with the entire route lit up by sunlight and filled with standard traffic…it wasn’t the same.

The climbs was painful without the right pacing. The descent was interrupted by regular angry drivers.

The daylight took away the joyful mystery.