SEP 26, 2008 – 12:00AM

One night a few years ago, I was cycling home on the only real hill between work and my house.

It’s a relatively steep hill, and I was grinding along in the dark.

There was no street light; my headlight provided the only illumination, most if it pointed not far ahead of my front wheel.

About halfway up the hill, I heard a sound off to my right: Something was running alongside me in the growth on the side of the road. By the sound of things, it was big, too, but the hill was steep enough I couldn’t accelerate away.

I pedaled on, daring not to glance to the side for fear of angering whatever it was that was crashing through the underbrush.

I made it home without being swallowed and shared the story with my kids the next morning at breakfast.

Normally, they tune me out, but this time my son, Brooks, looked up from his breakfast with wide eyes and asked, in all seriousness, “Was it a giraffe, daddy?”

Truth be told, it probably was a field mouse or maybe a rabbit, maybe even a coyote or dog, but in the dark and quiet of the early morning, sounds become magnified.

I’m convinced cyclists get to use their senses more than motorists trapped in their cages of metal and steel.

This is the second in a series of five blogs dedicated to the senses: hearing.

I’ve heard all sorts of sounds on my bike I never would have heard had I been behind the wheel.

I’ve heard owls hooting and coyotes howling and people moaning.

I frequently hear (and cringe at) rabbits’ claws scrabbling over asphalt.

Once I heard a blood-curdling scream. Seeing a flickering glow, I backtracked and found the terrifying scene of the Boardwalk Apartments on fire.

Scary stuff.

I’ve heard revelers reveling and boozehounds boozing and brawlers brawling and crooners crooning.

I’ve heard lots of disparaging comments directed at me simply because I’m riding a bike, but I have a theory on that.

After a recent blog in which I related some of the funny things motorists have said to me, someone posted a comment that maybe my bike skills weren’t up to par if I was subjected to so much verbal abuse.

I did a lot of soul-searching after that one.

Snarky, anonymous comments tend to turn me introspective.

After looking deep within, I decided the problem wasn’t my bike skills (of course not). It’s just that because I’m riding in the open air, I hear every comment directed my way.

In my car, I say things about lots of people I encounter, both good and bad.

But they rarely hear my comments – and I’m glad – because both of us are ensconced in glass and overwhelmed by radios and engine noise.

On my bike, there’s no escaping it.

My all-time weirdest sound came just a couple of weeks ago.

Again, it was late (actually early), and I was just a couple of blocks from my home when I heard a small-engine noise.

At first, I thought it came from a scooter or motorcycle, but I realized that wasn’t the case. It came, instead, from a chain saw.

Now think about that for a minute: Why on earth would anyone need to fire up a chain saw at 2 a.m.?

Had it been windy or stormy, I could understand someone needing to clean up some debris that threatened the house, but it had been clear and calm for days.

I considered tracking down the source, but decided against it.

The specter of Texas massacres danced in my head, so I high-tailed it for home as the sound rang out into the night.