Dead Baby Downhill and Messenger Challenge Races
Friday evening, I participated in the festivities associated with the 10th Annual Dead Baby Bikes Downhill and Messenger Challenge races. I rode in the “long board” alleycat rather than the downhill event, which I sort of regret, but so be it. Mostly, I feel bad about missing out on the raucus community of the main race, especially since, in the messenger challenge I was immediately so far behind, I essentially did it alone.
I did, however learn—or rather, re-learn—an important lesson: don’t get stoned BEFORE the race. Being high made me totally overthink the directions on the race manifest, causing me to lose precious seconds—or more like quarter hours—at every turn. For instance, right at the outset of the race, I wasted about 10 minutes trying to find someone in the Church of the Bicycle Jesus to absolve me for my cycling sins, when all I really had to do was leave from there, our designated starting point.
On the plus side, being obviously destined to finish DFL, I had no qualms about stopping at convenient watering holes—notably the Twilight Exit and the Rendevous—for in-race-libations. The beer didn’t improve my time, but it did augment the golden glow of the lovely late-summer evening.
By the time I finished the course, which took us from Beacon Hill, through the International District, over Capitol Hill, across Westlake to Queen Anne, and then all the back down to Georgetown, the after-party was in full swing. All the beer you could drink as long as you used your official Dead Baby water bottle, a couple of cool cycle-powered amusement park rides, and thrilling bunny-hop, jousting, and foot-down competitions for your viewing pleasure.
My high point was the ride home, half a dozen woozy riders escorting a guy peddling furiously on a 16-inch wheeled kid’s bike. This was what I was looking for all evening: having fun riding in a group of cyclists having fun riding.
I did, however learn—or rather, re-learn—an important lesson: don’t get stoned BEFORE the race. Being high made me totally overthink the directions on the race manifest, causing me to lose precious seconds—or more like quarter hours—at every turn. For instance, right at the outset of the race, I wasted about 10 minutes trying to find someone in the Church of the Bicycle Jesus to absolve me for my cycling sins, when all I really had to do was leave from there, our designated starting point.
On the plus side, being obviously destined to finish DFL, I had no qualms about stopping at convenient watering holes—notably the Twilight Exit and the Rendevous—for in-race-libations. The beer didn’t improve my time, but it did augment the golden glow of the lovely late-summer evening.
By the time I finished the course, which took us from Beacon Hill, through the International District, over Capitol Hill, across Westlake to Queen Anne, and then all the back down to Georgetown, the after-party was in full swing. All the beer you could drink as long as you used your official Dead Baby water bottle, a couple of cool cycle-powered amusement park rides, and thrilling bunny-hop, jousting, and foot-down competitions for your viewing pleasure.
My high point was the ride home, half a dozen woozy riders escorting a guy peddling furiously on a 16-inch wheeled kid’s bike. This was what I was looking for all evening: having fun riding in a group of cyclists having fun riding.
posted by Professor Dave at 10:20 AM
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