On my bicycle, I passed the Dairy Queen (and stopped), cruised through downtown Minneapolis, angled across the Stone Arch Bridge, cut through the U of M campus, and then peddled in the dark along the Mississippi River to home. It wasn't my intention to get home after dark ... especially since last night I also got home "late."
My outings are always for exercise for the muscles and for the eyes. The eye exercise comes from working the mind's eye, the photographer's eye. Why did a scene catch my eye? How can I capture that in a picture? Look again. Work the mind's eye harder to see more. This eye exercise is an addiction. But, cast in a good light, it's like a painter who has to paint. The artist is obsessed. So I'm not addicted. I'm obsessed.
I detoured onto the Franklin Ave Bridge to see why there were two fire trucks and eight police cars in the middle. It was a jumper, a suicide. Sad. I got the story from a woman who saw him jump. I thought I should say something to her ... but didn't know what. This morning I thought perhaps I could have said, "Are you okay?"
Peddling away, I surprised myself by noting that I didn't even think of taking photos. As an addicted obsessed photographer who thought his career could have been photo journalism, I wondered if I flunked a test.
After passing the next bridge, Lake Street, I called 911 and told them they had a chance to see the body float by under the bridge. The bright bridge lights were reflecting on and lighting up the river. If a large object floated by on the surface you might be able to see it. When I got home, Phyllis, after feeling sad, wondered whether bodies float or sink. That's a good question for a Google search or for Zach, our goina'-be-police-officer son-in-law.
Here are some photos from the ride.