Elfin

The Monkey was telling me that he expected to feel poorly in the morning while I tried to convince him that this was no reason to modify one’s behavior the night before, and although my powers of persuasion no doubt left something to be desired, I do think I set a reasonable example of my point, as evidenced by the empty wallet and creative bike parking in the storage shed that greeted me in the A.M.

But it was to be expected, as the holidays kicked into full gear beginning with a winter wonderland at Westlake and culminating with Sugarplum Elves in the coffee house on Capitol Hill.

In between, there was a mass ride on the Aurora Bridge, plenty of whiskey at the playground, and a couple of noobs lured into the fold despite the challenge of hauling around a gallon of milk.

When I was about 8, I had a dream that I was running down the street, ahead of all the kids in my neighborhood, including local god, Steven Harrison, a seventh-grader, who ruled the cul de sac.  It took me years to figure out that it hadn’t actually happened, but the memory lingers on and occasionally gets re-animated by moments like the one where suddenly, thanks to my favorite short cut and a dawdling pelaton, I found myself at the head of the pack as it emerged from the I-5 Hobo Trail.

Holiday magic!

Not surprisingly, I didn’t make it back with my calendar, so I’ll just have to suffice with memories, hazy though they may be.  Fortunately, the velocipede is a gyroscope once it’s moving and the lizard brain’s survival mode knows the route home, so there’s still some functioning gray matter for pictures of blinking tail lights high above Fremont and piles of bikes framing singing Elves to reside in.

Never fear the morning the night before; what we remember tomorrow will always make what we did tonight well worth it.