Twilight Greetings

Once I wake up at 5am, it takes me about 30 minutes to dress up and bike to the gym. For the few months around the summer solstice it is bright when I leave my house, but for most of the year it is dark, and I bike through the streets using the soft glow of twilight.

SF is a sleepy city in the morning. Throughout the 1 mile journey down Valencia street and up 17th street to the Castro, I usually pass by less than 10 drivers. Most of them are sanitation workers, high up on their trucks, cleaning the streets before rush hour. There are never more than a half a dozen or so bikers. I ride my bike slowly, so they often zip past or ahead of me, and we never make eye contact.

I see about 10 houseless people each morning on my way to the gym. A couple are crouched by their tents, several are sifting through trash, and some are walking with all their stuff slung behind their backs. At first I nodded at them, but now I greet them. Some greet me back, others still just stare.

A friend once told me that the houseless crisis has turned the streets of SF into a hellscape. I agree with him, and I also cannot decide whether the comfort I feel on these morning bike rides means nothing or makes me a devil.

When I leave the gym around 7am, commuters pack the streets, and the sky and the buildings often overflow with light. By now the houseless are gone. Office workers and joggers have taken their place. It is bittersweet, knowing that tomorrow morning they’ll likely be around again to receive my twilight greetings.