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And even more fun when you get to do it with three dozen or so of your friends and acquaintances, along with several random strangers.
And even more fun when combined with medicinal doses of your favorite recreational intoxicants, namely cannabis and alcohol.
And even more fun when you get to wind through waterfront pathways and climb unpaved park service roads through a dense urban greenway to congregate around a graffitied shipping container straight out of a 1980s gritty crime drama movie set.
And even more fun when the ride eventually takes you on a reasonably thrilling descent through familiar neighborhoods made unfamiliar by the unprecedented route and you end up, en masse, at what appears to be a high-concept version of a no-concept dive bar, but which turns out to be relatively authentic in its re-creation of the re-creation it re-creates.
But perhaps the most fun of all is that for the first time in recent memory (and, admittedly, the aforementioned recreational intoxicants constrain the scope of those recollections), you get to do all this without having to plastic coat yourself for comfort or grin and bear another of this rainy season’s rainy rains.
As fun as it is to hear your tires hiss and squish, and as pleasant it is to avoid the squealing of brakes with the wetting of rims, it really is an uncommon pleasure to not have rain-spattered glasses and sodden gloves.
Enjoying the joys of wet weather cycling, and the sense of smug satisfaction that goes along with perceiving yourself a badass who’s out on two wheels, conditions be damned is surely enjoyable, but how much easier it is to find joy on your bike when you’re not having to run your soaking fingers over your dripping spectacles every few blocks and you don’t arrive home with gloves smelling like cheese and socks whose waterlogged dye has colored your ankles.
Riding bikes is fun.
Dry bikes funner.