Blast

Photo by joeball

The huge fog banks hugging Eagle Harbor, from which Lee Williams surmised pirate ships would be emerging to board our Bainbridge Island-bound Washington State Ferry vessel, had nothing on the massive smoke screen that crept in on something much bigger than little cat’s feet—namely several hundred dollars of Chinese-made military-grade ordnance manufactured to commemorate the birth of the American Republic—to the parking area of the Suquamish reservation at Agate Pass on the Olympic Peninsula as sweaty bicycle riders launched explosives skywards, earthwards, and sometimes even eyewards for probably as long as the battle of Lexington itself may have lasted if not the subsequent skirmish at Concord, as well.

In spite of the fact that the putative organizer of the event “yes, but no’ed” at the 11th hour, the small troop of almost non-duplicated named cyclists (two Matthews) managed to not only leave Westlake Center in time for beer at the pier, but also, thanks to the Nuclear version of the aforementioned double-Matts, get a little bit of trail-riding in on the way to the Native American fireworks stand.

A small contingent even braved the interior of the Clearwater Casino Resort to enjoy what the bartender called “pounders” of beer in the Beach Rock Lounge where Ladies’ Night apparently means that the DJ is female since no other patrons of any gender seemed to be attendance at the time.

But perhaps the loveliest aspect of the whole experience is how the miscreants offered at least a respectful gesture of effort to clean up after themselves by organizing the spent explosives into a trash bag (at least those not launched into the woods and nearby highways) before pedaling away to the cheers of gratitude from fireworks purveyors who seemed not a bit disturbed by the carnage they’d just witnessed.

A fast spin to the boat and then, back on the mainland, nightcaps without singing for once capped the evening.

Still, plenty of fireworks all around, yo-yo-yo-yo, pop-pop!