When you discover that your favorite drunken bike gang has biked to and is now standing around a fire drinking at the only outdoor firepit with its very own chimney less than a mile from your home, resistance is futile.
Even though you’ve just finished your last teaching day of the quarter—or, perhaps because you have—and even though you’ve just gotten home after the first holiday party of the season—or perhaps because you have—there’s really no question of remaining warm and dry inside your own four walls: you bundle back up, hop on your bike and essentially roll downhill all the way to where a couple dozen of your two-wheeled acquaintances have congregated to enjoy the spirit of the season—that spirit being, of course, brown liquor mixed into store-bought eggnog for all to enjoy.
It’s lovely to be welcomed by the assembled and to enjoy the toasty glow of the cheery blaze in the outdoor fireplace; voices rise every higher as the flames are stoked from below and above; somewhat surprisingly, none of the nearby homeowners comes out with a dog to investigate; perhaps it is an early Christmas miracle after all.
Eventually, though, even the charms of the great outdoors begin to pale (either that, or the beer starts to run out) and the assembled wend their way through wooded paths that, to my way of thinking, are plenty exotic enough at this time of night and in this state of mind even if they don’t require a full-on shredding of the gnar.
And before you know it, there you are, having avoided the obvious turn-off to your own abode and by taking a route as familiar as they come, at one of the more typical last stops of the evening, where several nights are capped to songs sung by melodious strangers and exuberant acquaintances.
Of course, all this could have been avoided if only the assembled had assembled farther away.
Even though you’ve just finished your last teaching day of the quarter—or, perhaps because you have—and even though you’ve just gotten home after the first holiday party of the season—or perhaps because you have—there’s really no question of remaining warm and dry inside your own four walls: you bundle back up, hop on your bike and essentially roll downhill all the way to where a couple dozen of your two-wheeled acquaintances have congregated to enjoy the spirit of the season—that spirit being, of course, brown liquor mixed into store-bought eggnog for all to enjoy.
It’s lovely to be welcomed by the assembled and to enjoy the toasty glow of the cheery blaze in the outdoor fireplace; voices rise every higher as the flames are stoked from below and above; somewhat surprisingly, none of the nearby homeowners comes out with a dog to investigate; perhaps it is an early Christmas miracle after all.
Eventually, though, even the charms of the great outdoors begin to pale (either that, or the beer starts to run out) and the assembled wend their way through wooded paths that, to my way of thinking, are plenty exotic enough at this time of night and in this state of mind even if they don’t require a full-on shredding of the gnar.
And before you know it, there you are, having avoided the obvious turn-off to your own abode and by taking a route as familiar as they come, at one of the more typical last stops of the evening, where several nights are capped to songs sung by melodious strangers and exuberant acquaintances.
Of course, all this could have been avoided if only the assembled had assembled farther away.
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