It was a little past midnight. I couldn’t sleep, my stomach hurt and my mind was far from at ease. No movie, television show, or novel would do, I needed something else. Having worked on a bike the past few days I decided to take a midnight stroll through the hills of chino. I convinced my cousin and off we went. He rode my younger brother’s fixie and I an old, beat up mountain bike that we found in my tio’s backyard. We headed towards the golf course, the physical divide between new and old chino hills. After about 20 minutes I realized I had no clue where we were. We slowed our pace to look for familiar signs and conserve energy. Lost, cold, and tired I felt a strange calm. The dim street lights allowed the moon and stars to shine brightly. The wind hitting our sweaty skin took me pack to adolescents in hotels: jumping into a cold pool after some minutes in the jacuzzi. The absolute silence reminded me of kicking the ball into the home made soccer goal in the old Pomona house. We finally found a sign for the 71 and followed it, going under the freeway, into Chino, towards the state prison, and back up towards chino hills. While my chain feel and the mechanism that adjust the length of it got stuck in the spokes, making me carry the stupid bike up hill for about 200 yards it was a nice ride.
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