Rapture

If Family Radio President Harold Camping is right and doomsday comes this weekend, at least I’ll have had the longest and prettiest bike ride of the year before the shit hits the fan.

Last night, I pedaled from the north end of Lake Washington in Bothell to near its southern tip below Seward Park then west across town to Magnolia before heading back east to my home, a loop that, if you include my ride out to school in the afternoon almost certainly managed to be as many miles as years I’ve lived, a feat that grows more impressive and less likely with each passing day.

But it was so lovely that I hardly wanted to stop and didn’t really get to given that by the time I’d found the never-before-visited beach, thanks, in no small part to Andre’s light show, the ride was already gathering up discarded cans and departing.

So, I tagged along up the hill to a spot in the road where we waited so long for the Angry Hippy that, for a while, I thought people were asking “Where’s Ben?” metaphorically.

But then, it was a comforting train of cyclists all the way north on the Rainier, making the often harrowing ride into the reasonable bike route it oughta be.

tehJobies was persistent enough to convince a portion of the assembled that Magnolia was just around the corner from Chinatown and although it involved surviving a flock of seagulls so large and loud it almost seemed a sign of the impending apocalypse, I was glad since it meant that not only would I get to keep riding but I’d also have the long way home to look forward to.

The waning almost-full moon was a menacing god head as I came over the hill after midnight; if the end is nigh, so be it; I’m sure I won’t be raptured on Saturday, but so what?

A night like this I’m already in heaven.