Christaster

There’s not much I really want for Christmas: world peace, full funding for higher education in the state of Washington, a new 650B wheel with a Son dynamo hub, because other than these, I’ve already received all that any nice (or naughty) little boy or girl could ever hope for in the form of yet another successful Point83 holiday Christaster, orchestrated with singular aplomb by the Angry Hippy, whose attention to detail in the golf-themed race course ought to put him right up there with Tiger Woods himself even though the mood of the event was more in keeping with your John Daly modes of consumption and excess.

I mean, you’ve got to love a race that features not one but three separate starting points, the second of which is designated as “finish” on the map.  (And if starting at the end isn’t an apt metaphor for these sorts of bike-fueled shenanigans, I don’t know what is.)

As for me, even though a slight overindulgence in holiday baked goods left me too distracted to complete the entire route, I did manage to achieve all desired three outcomes for the course: getting lost in the woods, experiencing the magic discovery of lights like Galadriel’s elves in the forest, and, ultimately, making it to the finish line for hot toddies and Reindeer Games.

I eschewed the eggnog-chugging, cigar-puffing, and lake-swimming, thereby eliminating any chances I might have had for a much-needed mulligan but no matter, victory was mine in the end, as I garnered a Lifetime Achievement Clappy Award for waiting longer than anyone else in the vicinity has even lived for marijuana to finally be legal.

My white elephant gift-bag pick was a winner, too, filled with variety of analgesics certain to come in handy on many occasions, although, perhaps surprisingly, no Advil or Ben-Gay is called for this morning, an eventuality I attribute mainly to the therapeutic effects of holiday cheer as embodied by another successful Christaster.