One of my scariest trips ever on bicycle was a seven-mile jaunt home from Watertown, Massachusetts to Cambridge in the middle of winter, after dark, on a three-speed commuter with no lights, on a stretch of road which had no street lights but a moderate amount of high-speed traffic. My fingers were freezing despite the warm gloves, and as much (or as little) ambient light as there was from the other side of the river, I found the lights of cars behind me to be a helpful aid as they approached -- but a bane as they passed, leaving me temporarily blinded by their relative brilliance.
I'm not fond of cycling after dark, or having lights weighing down my bicycles, but the short days and need for transportation mean that I am occasionally out there, with what (until recently) I thought to be correct and sufficient illumination. My first couple of trips home from the supermarket showed me this was anything but the case; however, I know the route well, there are street lights, and there is sufficient traffic to keep the path well lit without blinding me between passing cars. Reading the street signs is another story, and I have to rely on my knowledge of the local traffic lights to make the correct turn-off to get home.
Last week I needed to make a couple of longer trips at night, only one through an area I'd traveled by day. While I did arrive at my destinations without major incident, I had a couple of close calls where I missed a pothole or a pile of leaves until I rode through it, where I could not see a pedestrian poking out between cars until I was close enough to hit her, or where I had to swerve at last minute to avoid a cyclist riding the wrong way, without lights, and wearing dark clothing. There were also a couple of cases where motor vehicles did not see me despite my head- and tail-lights, blinking ankle light, and screaming yellow overjacket with reflective trim. While I've since upgraded (but not had the opportunity to test) the headlight, these rides in the dark were also in some ways a metaphor for living with diabetes.
Like the people and road hazards I did not see, or the drivers who did not see me, most of us "never see" diabetes coming "until it hits us". We may have risk factors and warning signs, but until we are diagnosed, "it could never happen to me". Some motorists prefer to deny that bicyclists exist, or that -- "Share the Road" signs notwithstanding -- we have a right to use the road; many of us, on first diagnosis, will deny that we have diabetes. (Many of us will deny our diabetes well beyond that initial diagnosis, but that's another tale.)
Once we have accepted the diagnosis, we learn to take care of ourselves and to be prepared for what diabetes will "throw" at us. Much like my basic lights, we are issued glucometers, prescriptions, and diets. But these don't always prepare us for the highs and lows that pop out of nowhere, like jaywalking pedestrians in the dark. So we upgrade our diabetes care equipment and our diabetes regimen. Instead of generator lights, there's a AA-cell battery light, or a rechargeable battery light. There's light-colored, reflective clothing. Still, just as we don't see the car until the beam from its headlights crosses our path, we don't "know" how well we've been doing until we get those A1c numbers, or we upload our meters to our computers and analyze all those data points. We may be able to mitigate some of the stress of diabetes by switching from shots to a pump, testing our blood glucose levels more often, or adding a CGM to the mix -- alerting us to when we are about to head out of safety range so that we may correct. We travel "familiar roads" by keeping to the same meal schedule, the same diet plan...
In cycling, there are two types of headlights: the (expensive, hard-to-find) type you use to see with, and the (inexpensive, easy-to-find) type you use to be seen by other travelers (you hope). The recent upgrade should take me from the second of these classes to the first. Based on how much further ahead of me I need my headlight to illuminate, and how wide a swath of beam I need, it looks like I've received, and followed, good advice in choosing this light. However, just like the treatment plans we get from our doctors and CDEs, what works in the laboratory environment of my living room (or the doctor's office) may not work out as expected in practice.
The bottom line is, I shouldn't need the street to be as light as daylight -- just bright enough to see a few dozen yards beyond me in the dark. Be prepared to dodge pedestrians, wrong-way cyclists. And watch out for those blind curves -- both on the road and in my diabetes care.
