OCT 6, 2008 – 12:00AM

Truth be told, I could do without the bugs in the teeth, the smell of dog food, the blood-curdling screams and the sting of pelting rain.

But some of the sights I’ve seen and the promise of others has provided all the impetus I’ve needed at times to swing a leg over my bike and ride to work.

This is the fifth in a five-blog series dedicated to the senses and how commuting by bike is a more sensual experience than driving.

I consider the subjects of the four previous blogs to be more side benefit than reason to ride.

There have been nights I’ve been dog tired and just about ready to climb behind the wheel.

Never have I convinced myself to ride instead because I anticipated a spectacular smell or sound or feeling or taste, but more than once I’ve reminded myself of a spectacular, well, spectacle, and that got me pedaling.

Not all visions have been motivational.

Some have been downright inexplicable.

Like the time I saw a man get out of a parked car wearing nothing but a jock strap and high heels, walk across the street and head for the outdoor basketball court. He had no ball (at least, no visible basketball) to play with.

Go figure.

I’ve been flashed (by men and women) and mooned (alas, only boys seem inclined to drop trou), and I’ve seen couples getting carnal.

And I don’t mean in the borderline-questionable PDA sense, either.

I mean in the when-a-man-loves-a-woman-very-very-much sense.

But the most memorable sights haven’t involved other people.

I’ve seen gorgeous sunsets and even prettier lightning storms.

I’ve ridden beneath spectacular canopies of flowering trees (Bradford pear, perhaps?) and recall once riding along a trail along the Kansas River after a recent snowfall that was just about the most picture-perfect winter-wonderland scene I’d ever seen.

I’ve seen dozens of meteors and, in fact, make sure I’m working on the nights of the major meteor showers each year just so I get a few extra minutes of skywatching in.

One of my favorite sights is that of the constellation Scorpius. At one point I have to climb a moderately significant hill during my middle-of-the-night ride home, and about halfway up – at the right time of year – I can look up and envision the road and Scorpius merging, the scorpion’s stellar exoskeleton creating a perfect extension of the rising pavement.

By far my most memorable sight came a couple of years ago.

I recall riding home and noticing an odd reddish glow to the northeast.

At first I assumed it was light pollution from Kansas City, but the farther I rode away from the brighter lights of downtown, the more pronounced the glow.

I stopped at an especially dark location and noticed the glow was changing, becoming a diaphanous sheen of reds and greens.

I was mesmerized and hurried home so I could enjoy the northern lights from my own deck.

I haven’t seen the aurora borealis since and don’t expect to anytime soon, but more than once I’ve reminded myself of that unexpected, awesome sight – and the fact I never would have seen it if I had driven to work – and consider myself lucky to have chosen to ride my bike.