Keep On Pedaling Til the Fun Shows Up

I felt like the .83 ride last night got off to a kind of ragged start. Seemed to me that there was just too much negotiating (read pissing and moaning) about where we were gonna go and too many chefs involved in cooking up the route. The tension was alleviated somewhat by the irrepressible Henry stripping down to don the ceremonial Elvis suit and by broken-armed rider Pete showing up on old-school trike bike, but even when we set out from Westlake, I just wasn’t feeling the love.

Things got more interesting when we hiked our bikes down the hobo trail from Beacon Hill towards Georgetown but by the time we got to the Grand Central bread dumpster, I was thinking I might bail early. I even remained unmoved by some classic parking lot shenanigans: bread ball wars, 2x4 jousting, and even Honey Bucket tipping; it looked like it might be an early night for the 50 year-old.

But I decided to tag along across the Duwamish towards Alki and by the time the straggler group I was with arrived to stand around on the west side of the West Seattle Bridge and kibbitz while another rider fixed yet another flat, I was feeling much more into it (of course it coulda been what we smoked while waiting, but still…).

I was grinning and spinning all the way to Alki Beach more beer was drunk (and thrown) and stars were pointed out and argued about. I particularly enjoyed the subsequent ride to Magnolia, especially through Myrtle Edwards Park where the first tents of Hempfest were being constructed and from which the initial clouds of pot smoke were wafting as we rode by.

I didn’t have the heart for karaoke, neither to watch nor to sing, so I missed the most squalid of the evening’s festivities at the Boxcar tavern.

But I did get another nice ride through Myrtle Edwards and some more tasty wafting from the tents.