send me on my way

i biked the Cherry Creek trail twice this past week. i think its my kinda trail. its a hilly winding path with few streetlights and stop signs, (that i usually blow through anyway, i mean, totally stop for) but has much for viewing pleasure. it takes a lot more concentration and devotion to take the bike lane on a road for miles on end, only to smell vehicle butt fumes and breathe lungfulls of CO2. i'm just not that obsessed yet. i'm sure if i measured it i'm probably breathing just as polluted air but at least i get to see more than just passing cars and other masochistic cyclists. my first ride this week i saw a bit more usual. cruising along parrallel to the downtown canal at 10 am i pass two hispanics chillin' at the water's rocky edge, shirts off, feet in, surrounded by the tall yellow grass. on my return trip i noticed a cop and his bike about 15 feet from them. heading this new direction and with the absence of tall grass and rocks i no longer believed they only had their shirts and shoes off. i now knew why the biking cop had pulled up and why several police cars were now pulling up to the bridge above the bank, lights flashing, sirens blurping. pedro and jose made no movement toward their clothes piled behind them. i didn't stick around to find out what happened next. maybe if they had lived in boulder they could have chilled a little longer, or at least till their buzz wore off. i'd have to agree with donald miller that it all goes back to being naked.