Greenlake Race
I partipated last night in the regularly-scheduled post-Critical Mass Greenlake Race. It’s held at midnight on final Friday of each month, the same evening that the usual parade of “Massholes” (I can use that word; I am often one myself) takes place.
Riders race a lap around the lake, generally unlit (well, their bikes are; participants themselves are often well-lit), the winner being the first cyclist who can make it all the way from start to finish, avoiding late-night joggers, dog-walkers, homeless people with shopping carts, and in the summer, lawn sprinklers and garden hoses.
The first time I raced, last summer, I was under the impression it was all good fun, and, while it is, some of those boys (and the occasional girl) are really serious about the competition. In my career, I’ve come in second to last, last, and yesterday, in a personal best ever, third to last.
And I will note that in the January 2007 race, for first time ever, I was able to see the taillights of one group in front of me for two-thirds of the way before they completely disappeared in the distance.
It was a lovely—if slightly chilly—night for a bike ride. The half full moon was bright behind a veil of fog and there was virtually no wind.
The ride over to Greenlake, slightly cannabis-enhanced, was just enough of an adventure while still allowing the reflective space to think of all sorts of fleeting ideas for teaching, writing, and making the world a better place.
As cyclists were massing for the start, another rider, Jeff, asked our organizer, Derek Ito, if there was time to get stoned before we took off. It was clear that we’d be gone before he could pack a pipe, so I whipped out a joint.
“Ah! Professor McStoney comes through again!” cried my fellow rider.
I may not be known as a fast cyclist, but at least I’ve got a reputation.
Riders race a lap around the lake, generally unlit (well, their bikes are; participants themselves are often well-lit), the winner being the first cyclist who can make it all the way from start to finish, avoiding late-night joggers, dog-walkers, homeless people with shopping carts, and in the summer, lawn sprinklers and garden hoses.
The first time I raced, last summer, I was under the impression it was all good fun, and, while it is, some of those boys (and the occasional girl) are really serious about the competition. In my career, I’ve come in second to last, last, and yesterday, in a personal best ever, third to last.
And I will note that in the January 2007 race, for first time ever, I was able to see the taillights of one group in front of me for two-thirds of the way before they completely disappeared in the distance.
It was a lovely—if slightly chilly—night for a bike ride. The half full moon was bright behind a veil of fog and there was virtually no wind.
The ride over to Greenlake, slightly cannabis-enhanced, was just enough of an adventure while still allowing the reflective space to think of all sorts of fleeting ideas for teaching, writing, and making the world a better place.
As cyclists were massing for the start, another rider, Jeff, asked our organizer, Derek Ito, if there was time to get stoned before we took off. It was clear that we’d be gone before he could pack a pipe, so I whipped out a joint.
“Ah! Professor McStoney comes through again!” cried my fellow rider.
I may not be known as a fast cyclist, but at least I’ve got a reputation.
posted by Professor Dave at 12:53 PM
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