Quantum

photo by joeball

Science fiction conjectures about the implications of relativity theory and quantum physics suggest (at least to science fiction writers) the possibility of wormholes through the fabric of space-time continua that allow for travel faster than the speed of light.  Intrepid travelers could avail themselves of inter-galactic shortcuts to transcend the limits of three dimensions and arrive in a straight line at point C from point A without ever having to go through point B.

Of course, one can do this already, just by following the tail lights of fellow bike riders as you swirl through the forests of West Seattle to suddenly, as if by the magic of aboriginal dreamtime, arrive at our city’s original lifeblood where, in short order, a conflagration ensues and humans return to their simian roots, albeit with certain post-primate accouterments such as gasoline, canned beer, and racy playing cards.

Having been welcomed to the woods through the primordial teardrop Shakti yoni, I suppose it only made some kind of paradoxical sense that Dick Pic Park would live up to its name, although its former moniker, the Hidden Hobo Firepit was equally inappropriately appropriate, especially when the flames from one more than too many palettes threatened to ignite the overhanging trees and bushes into a blaze that would not have been hidden even from outer space astronauts gazing at the Great Wall of China with their naked eyes.

There were trails through trails on the to the early bar and subsequent fire, at least one superfluous hill climb, and perhaps, unfortunately, a new member of the broken collarbone club to boot; but it was easy to remember to resist grumbling no matter how much huffing and puffing was called for: efficiency is an overrated virtue when it comes to Thursday night rides. 

And even with shortcuts through the insides of atoms, the two-wheeled universe is huge, but there are no wrong turns when where you’re going is where you are and nobody’s ever lost when the ride rides together.