Nobody climbed the rafters as in years past; nor were numerous waffles flung like Frisbees across the park shelter’s interior; and we all missed, no doubt, Derrick Ito throwing batter everywhere and antiquing folks with unmixed pancake mix and handfuls of flour.
Nevertheless, this year’s annual (13th annual to be exact) Point83 Waffle Ride was just as enjoyable, and every bit as remarkable as in every other of its dozen previous incarnations. I woke to find my shoes coated predictably in dried batter, my nostrils filled convincingly with the scent of country breakfast, and my mind overflowing happily with images that while familiar, remain as unbelievable and precious as they have been for over a decade.
Where else will you see eight bike-hauled waffle irons, including the Hello Kitty model in all her pink-clad glory, steaming away merrily in a public park for the late-night dining pleasure of three or four dozen cyclists?
Or when else do you get to witness what surely began its life as a canoe paddle (or maybe Cricket bat) being used to stir the pot, so to speak, the “pot” being a six gallon bucket loaded with the raw materials of deliciousness soon to be pressed between hot metal plates?
Or how else can you find yourself in the delightful quandary of having to choose between balancing chocolate-covered coffee beans in every or every other square of the waffle before consuming?
Additionally, there was fire, sorta, and hot chocolate mixed with your liquor of choice, (or what was left over, eventually); plus, it never even rained or was so cold you couldn’t hold your beer without wearing gloves.
And once again, electrons got busy, free of charge, to make the extravaganza possible, thanks to the technical prowess of our resident organizer and the organizing prowess of our resident technician, huzzah.
No one crashed on the bridge heading home, either; a perfect topping to a night as full as our bellies could be.
Nevertheless, this year’s annual (13th annual to be exact) Point83 Waffle Ride was just as enjoyable, and every bit as remarkable as in every other of its dozen previous incarnations. I woke to find my shoes coated predictably in dried batter, my nostrils filled convincingly with the scent of country breakfast, and my mind overflowing happily with images that while familiar, remain as unbelievable and precious as they have been for over a decade.
Where else will you see eight bike-hauled waffle irons, including the Hello Kitty model in all her pink-clad glory, steaming away merrily in a public park for the late-night dining pleasure of three or four dozen cyclists?
Or when else do you get to witness what surely began its life as a canoe paddle (or maybe Cricket bat) being used to stir the pot, so to speak, the “pot” being a six gallon bucket loaded with the raw materials of deliciousness soon to be pressed between hot metal plates?
Or how else can you find yourself in the delightful quandary of having to choose between balancing chocolate-covered coffee beans in every or every other square of the waffle before consuming?
Additionally, there was fire, sorta, and hot chocolate mixed with your liquor of choice, (or what was left over, eventually); plus, it never even rained or was so cold you couldn’t hold your beer without wearing gloves.
And once again, electrons got busy, free of charge, to make the extravaganza possible, thanks to the technical prowess of our resident organizer and the organizing prowess of our resident technician, huzzah.
No one crashed on the bridge heading home, either; a perfect topping to a night as full as our bellies could be.