Thursday, March 22, 2012

Sprung

The Angry Hippy pointed out what was obvious: on no other ride had we ever stayed on the same street for so long and so far.

Granted, besides Rainier Boulevard, it’s hard to imagine any other roadway that could afford us such unbroken mileage—(Aurora, maybe?)—but still, it was pretty impressive to stay in the same lane for more than ten miles, continually scanning storefronts for that elusive watering hole south of Seward Park until, before you knew it—or maybe more like 10 minutes after you noticed—there we were all the way out of Seattle, in a place whose scale is better suited to airplanes than bikes and eventually, drinking beer in a pub that, had it been even a mile or two farther on, might have been the cause of real mutiny, or at least, a heckuva lot more grumbling.

As it was, though, the adventure unfolded into one of those nights where the bulk of the outside portion is on two wheels around the city (rather than on two feet around a fire) and included some fine off-road action as we entered the magic riparian wormhole that somehow connects downtown Renton with north Tukwila.

You know the evening is a success when your tires are covered in mud the next morning but you still have your wallet and keys and all the gear you stashed in your bag but didn’t need given how lovely the weather stayed from start to finish.

Tradition, such as it is, has sometimes had it that there’s a preview of the birthday bike race route the Thursday before the event, but this was much better, especially since it afforded riders the opportunity to pass by 55th Avenue South, one of the few 55-themed roads in Seattle that Saturday’s course will miss.

Which just goes to show how the unexpected is so often superior to the planned-for; even mile after mile on the same road, you’re still surprised.

Thursday, March 8, 2012

Illuminate

The highly-unlikely was reported in the newspaper to be slightly possible: they said there was a chance, albeit a slim one, that the aurora borealis would be visible in the late night skies over Seattle.

And while we never did see the Northern Lights, we were treated to an equally stunning visual display: the full moon reflecting so brightly off Lake Washington that a quicksilver fog seemed to hover over the water

Which just goes to show that it’s what you don’t expect that typically exceeds expectations.

Or to put it in more specific terms: just when you think you’ve seen it all on Thursday nights you haven’t.

Like all of sudden in a place you’ve been several times before, there’s a bona-fide skate park with dudes who can “shred” the half-pipe and an African-American youth who slyly mouths “White Power” (although at least one person heard “Bike Power”) when thirty Cacausians on bikes suddenly appear.

At the same time, some things never get old; no matter how many times you get to bomb non-stop downhill for such an hilariously long time it still feels brand-new.

Which isn’t to say there weren’t any unprecedented events; in addition to the moonlight sonata, I’d never seen anyone join the ride by leaving their backpack behind—although I am pretty sure that I’ve witnessed other bailouts than the Angry Hippy’s based on lost articles of clothing before.

And for once, it wasn’t Joeball with his face in the nascent fire blowing on twigs.

Or get this: we actually had more wood than we needed and no one broke a toe or melted their shoes spreading out the leftover coals.

My route out of the park to the final watering hole is one I’ve taken dozens of times. Never before, though, has it afforded me the chance to arrive at the bar concurrently with much faster riders who went the other way.

So let the sun flare and the moon shine.