Editors’ note: The opinions and ideas expressed in The Accidental Gentrifist are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the outlook and belief of anyone else in the Ist network.

No one knows why moths fly into the light. Well, not exactly.

As always, there are theories: It’s possible that artificial light confuses a moth’s lunar-based navigation system, or obliterates their ability to differentiate the relative levels of darkness of sky and ground. It’s also possible that the instinct of plunging into light is a vestigial escape mechanism, when some early, ancestral moths slumbered or fed in caves, and when confronted with sudden peril, the only ones who escaped were those who flew into the cave’s opening. Literally, the ones who found the light at the end of the tunnel.

Or perhaps, at some point millions of years ago, when there were just a few hundred Lepidoptera fluttering about, they flew low, en masse, over some warm, primordial pond, only to be suddenly eaten by the first hungry frogs, leaving behind only the insane few, still mindlessly circling dozens of feet above, unaware of the carnage beneath them, as they were quite busy trying to fly to the moon.

While the final hypothesis contains nothing of any biological or paleontological relevance, it might be the best explanation why, last week, I decided to ride my bike to all of Austin’s Moonlight Towers.

October 16th. One of the first cool days of fall, it threatened to rain all afternoon. As the sun finally set, the sky became a thick, almost artificial backdrop of purple. Like a misty, painted muslin, perforated only by Venus and a crescent moon. Even the airplanes on approach to Bergstrom looked fake, forced by the low ceiling to approach at a tight angle, like models from a Japanese monster movie, their blinking forms visible in great detail as they fell inches above wet rooftops, the heavy air muffling all but the lowest drone of the engines.

I caught sight of my first tower around 10pm, as I rolled onto the sodden greens of the Hancock Golf Course, which became inky and dark around me as I plunged down the first slope, in search of a bridge bisecting the unseen creek snaking through it. Down at the golf course’s lowest depths, it was eerily quiet. The small creek was as still as glass, a pink and perfect reflection on the city-lit clouds above, broken only by rocks and the blank shadows of tree branches arching overhead.

Once off the greens, it was an easy roll to W. 41st & Speedway. I stopped to take a few pictures of the tower and the spooky, bone-white steeple of Hyde Park Baptist. Then I rolled toward campus, taking Speedway to W. 30th, past Fire Station No. 3, then Spider House. After it was finally possible to cross Guadalupe, I cruised down Nueces. Only a half dozen blocks away, I thought the next tower would already be visible, but it was hidden by the new height of the neighborhood. The tower at Nueces & W. 22nd was nearly outdone in nighttime spooky by a small-scale construction crane cast in blue shadows, just another couple blocks down the street.

Then, because I miswrote one of my directions, I turned right on MLK instead of heading East. As I passed the Mansion at Judges Hill, where groups of ladies dined and sipped on what I imagined was tea (lukewarm and heavily sweetened), I passed a young, long-haired brunette in a black cocktail dress as she walked home tipsily, strumming her fingers along a chain link fence.

I turned south across the street and plunged into a dark neighborhood, and eventually found my way back on course, finding the next tower, at W. 15th & San Antonio, caught in a vortex between Starbuck’s and 7-11. The next was at W. 14th & Rio Grande, where two ACC students laughingly gossiped about a mutual acquaintance as they waited for the bus.

The next tower required the ascension of my first real hill, to the summit of W. 12th & Blanco, a brief but heart attack-inducing climb that made me seriously question the wisdom of riding a mono cog through West Austin. As I paused to regain my breath and composure, I saw that the concrete base of the tower had been inscribed with 'Scary Mary 10-11-93,' an epitaph written, no doubt, in freshly laid concrete the year all 17 remaining towers were dismantled, restored, and replanted.

The air at the top of the hill was chilly, almost preternaturally cold, seeping under my clothes as I rolled down Blanco, past Fire Station No. 4, Austin’s oldest surviving station at 102 years old. I crossed through a neighborhood of stately Victorian-era homes, then downhill, through Duncan Park, and back up another hill to the next tower overlooking the Hirschfeld house at W. 9th & Guadalupe. Then past the capitol, its floodlights casting the foggy sky above it into a gray halo the approximate tinge of dishwater. I cut through an alley to the tower at E. 11th & Trinity, which was completely dark. I shrugged and pedaled on.

My intention was to stop at Club de Ville for water, a pint of Live Oak Pilz, and a very much anticipated piss. But they were choked on the throng awaiting the Fujiya & Miyagi show, the men’s room full of about nine guys sucking on gin and tonics, waiting for the stall. So I split and hit Lovejoy’s for a glass of Guinness and a shot of Jameson, served by the convivially irritated David Comeau as he watched his Red Sox teeter on the edge of an impending Game 4 loss to Cleveland, down 3-7 at the top of the 9th.

His disappointment matched mine as I left Lovejoy’s to find the tower at Trinity & Cesar Chavez… gone. That was curious. I had thought all the towers had been protected from demolition in 1976. I continued on my route, only to find the tower at W. 4th & Nueces… also gone. What the hell? My night was being thwarted by the inexplicable absence of that which I fully expected to find. Chalk one up to not doing homework.*

A little dismayed, I headed to the spiraling ascension of the Lamar Boulevard pedestrian and bicycle bridge, where a large-scale drum circle in full fugue did little to soothe my disappointment. I paused over the river to scrutinize the downtown skyline, hoping I'd made a mistake. But there was no artificial moonlight to be seen.

I dove into the near absolute blackness of the bike trail on the south bank of the river, suddenly realizing that it was an almost ideal location to be murdered. I pedaled harder until I reached Barton Springs Road, where I crossed the creek and plunged into Zilker Park, where I found perhaps the most famous of all moonlight towers, also serving as the town’s Official Christmas Tree (located, incidentally, not far from where actual trees are unceremoniously dumped at the end of the holiday season, to be chipped and mulched like so many good intentions). The park was fragrant with grasses and oaks, and I stopped to take a few more pictures. Maybe it was the lack of buildings, but it seemed that the Zilker tower was the only one to give off light actually reminiscent of the moon.

I took Barton Springs to Dawson, where the homes seemed overly illuminated, as if on display. After being arrested by a dead end, I cut over to the tower at S. 1st & W. Monroe, which illuminates both a silent funeral home and the sleepless caffeine addicts at Bouldin Creek Coffeehouse.

The sky still threatened to open, so I hurriedly took Monroe to S. Congress, past the ethereally lit storefronts to Leland & East Side, where I collapsed on the grass at the foot of the tower, the Guinness and Jameson proving themselves to be rather sub-par, at least in terms of ‘thirst-quenching sports drink’.

I crossed the river on I-35. As I approached the tower at Canterbury & Lynn, I passed the following in this order: a giant inflatable Halloween skull, a Baptist Temple, three men playing dominoes on a front porch, and a giant inflatable jack-o-lantern. Then the tower. As I headed north, I saw a man on his hands and knees, rutting around a stand of bushes at 6th & Comal. Next was a man leaning sleepily inside a lit-up taco trailer on 7th street, staring at an empty picnic table, waiting for customers. I climbed past the state cemetery and finally reached E. 11th & Lydia, as well as the Longbranch Inn, where Jerel de Marte bought me a Guinness, even though I demurred at first, remembering how my pancreas tried to kill me two towers back.

Next was the tower at Leona & Pennsylvania, across from Kealing Middle School. Then, in a last minute switch, I decided to hit the tower at MLK & Chicon next instead of last, making the final stop 13th & Coleto.

The neighborhood was quiet, and except for the pale puddle in which I stood, almost entirely dark. Headlights passed but never drew near. Previously, a paper sign had been affixed to the gray base of the tower with two wide strips of clear tape, until someone coarsely tore away the middle, leaving only two thin strips of frayed paper, one of which bore the only remaining words: ‘If Found.’

* [Note: The tower at W. 4th & Nueces is in storage, temporarily removed due to construction of the 360 condos, but you can relax, as it's already slated to go back up, albeit at reduced wattage (item C-3 here, and C-2 here). The tower at Trinity & Cesar Chavez has been down for a couple years, and its removal may or may not have anything to do with the Four Seasons Residences scheduled to go up soon. Regardless, The Austin Historic Preservation Office assured the author that it is currently in storage and scheduled to be "re-erected," although no time frame or alternate site was offered.]