Dead Baby Conference Bike

Took the Conference Bike on the Dead Baby Downhill last night; six of us—would have been the full complement of seven but one rider mysteriously vanished at the start—rocked the course in circular splendor. More than a thousand pounds of bike and riders made for a thrillingly fast descent, and although lots of bikes passed us on the course’s flat section, we finished far from DFL, ahead, I’m pretty sure of at least one of the two Santas in the race.

The experience has done nothing to dissuade me from my belief that the Conference Bike saves the world, or at least repairs a few cracks wherever it goes.

As we pedaled up 8th Ave. NW on our way to the starting point in Greenwood, people invariably smiled, gawked, and shot camera phone pictures of us wherever we went. “What is that?” was the most common question. “The future!” I would reply heartily.

I was pleased by how rideable the contraption really is, with seven riders pedaling together. We were definitely working, ascending the gradual rise from Ballard to Crown Hill, but our progress was consistent, albeit none too quick.

And when the hill got too steep, as it did the last block of 73rd heading east to Greenwood Ave., two riders hopped off and pushed; again, we were moving pretty slow, but moving we were.

At the end-of-race party, Mimi and I circled the block a dozen or so times, taking on different groups of riders each time, all of whom, from middle-aged mom to tough-looking biker dude, to several members of the Portland bike-dance troupe, the Sprockettes, got that goofy grin you can’t help but get when you ride the thing.

Eventually, I let Mimi drive which was especially hilarious but probably safer in the long run, she being, in spite of her youth, in all likelihood the safest pilot among us—certainly the only one likely to pass the field sobriety test.