Once a Year

For 364 days in a row, Derrick is despicable and I’m a sucky dad, but we both get the last Sunday in February to come through, he with organizing the best pirate bike ride of the year and me in providing an opportunity for my child to notice that, unlike her, there are human beings on the planet who aren’t amazed that I can feed and clothe myself, but even more than that, everyone got to enjoy a late spring day although three more weeks of winter remain, and besides, we totally cleaned up in the prize department, coming home with a swell wicker bike basket and several recycled plastic totes, which—even if they do end up just hanging on a hook in the basement, will always remind me of a day I’ll always cherish and never forget.

Thanks to Chase for rescuing us from downtown Winslow, to which we’d ridden, having lost our special FHR map, but mostly thanks to the cycling gods who not only graced us with just about the perfect day for a ride, but also made sure me and the kid got our comeuppance for taking the shortcut with not only the extra couple of blocks searching around but also a dropped timing chain twice.

Not that it mattered: the whole thing couldn’t have been better, from milling around beneath the viaduct to booing David Hiller for making the neons get on the boat before us to flying downhill again and again to not once having to get off and walk while ascending and then, there we were, in a perfectly charming little park with a practically endless prize pile and not nearly enough beer but oodles of chili and it wasn’t even a problem we had to wait extra long for the ferry since it meant that most of us were there, slightly dazed in the sundeck aft, savoring the one day a year every other one should be like.