The annual Perseid meteor shower and your weekly Point83 bike ride actually have a lot in common.
Both, for example, are predictable in the broad sense; that is, you know when they’re coming around, every year or every week at the same time. However, with neither can you forecast exactly when sparks will fly. You have to keep your eyes open, gently scanning the celestial sphere and wait to be surprised by what you nevertheless have come to expect.
Both, also, are occasioned by a kind of reverse action. The earth passing through the orbital path of Comet Swift-Tuttle makes it more likely that bits and pieces of space dust will slam into the our planetary atmosphere and ignite; bicycles moving through darkened park trails and closed roadways increase the likelihood that folks will get lit, especially with the addition of various intoxicants and mood-lifters.
Observing a meteor is kind of a little miracle. Usually, by the time you realize what you’re seeing, it’s gone. You get a sort of roller-coaster feeling, an “oooh” escapes your lips, a giggling “wow,” and then it’s over. Same thing happens as you float atop sandy paths on your bike, taillights winking in the distance and then, before you know it, you’re home.
And, finally, in each case, things really get going once the moon sets.
Of course, there are some differences. Meteors travel at the speed of 130,000 miles per hour. Only Fancy Fred, leading the ride away from the park, approaches that velocity.
Also, all of the Perseid meteors radiate from the same point in the sky. By contrast, nearly every outburst in Point83 comes from a different source—except, of course, when Derrick is along in full argle-bargle mode.
And unlike bike gang shenanigans, meteor showers occur whether you’re there to observe them or not; they’re a force of nature happening independently of human agency.
Wait. Come to think of it, that’s another one both share in plenty.
Both, for example, are predictable in the broad sense; that is, you know when they’re coming around, every year or every week at the same time. However, with neither can you forecast exactly when sparks will fly. You have to keep your eyes open, gently scanning the celestial sphere and wait to be surprised by what you nevertheless have come to expect.
Both, also, are occasioned by a kind of reverse action. The earth passing through the orbital path of Comet Swift-Tuttle makes it more likely that bits and pieces of space dust will slam into the our planetary atmosphere and ignite; bicycles moving through darkened park trails and closed roadways increase the likelihood that folks will get lit, especially with the addition of various intoxicants and mood-lifters.
Observing a meteor is kind of a little miracle. Usually, by the time you realize what you’re seeing, it’s gone. You get a sort of roller-coaster feeling, an “oooh” escapes your lips, a giggling “wow,” and then it’s over. Same thing happens as you float atop sandy paths on your bike, taillights winking in the distance and then, before you know it, you’re home.
And, finally, in each case, things really get going once the moon sets.
Of course, there are some differences. Meteors travel at the speed of 130,000 miles per hour. Only Fancy Fred, leading the ride away from the park, approaches that velocity.
Also, all of the Perseid meteors radiate from the same point in the sky. By contrast, nearly every outburst in Point83 comes from a different source—except, of course, when Derrick is along in full argle-bargle mode.
And unlike bike gang shenanigans, meteor showers occur whether you’re there to observe them or not; they’re a force of nature happening independently of human agency.
Wait. Come to think of it, that’s another one both share in plenty.
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