Proper

At the south end bar that loved us better last time we were there (but didn’t really mind us this time, either) Moira said that she hadn’t been out on a proper Point83 ride in a while.  

You know, one where, after having ridden double-digit miles to congregate in the great outdoors for beer-drinking and story-telling, you find yourself in a divey joint at close to midnight, even farther from your home, and yet nonetheless, are happily looking forward to pedaling back those double-digits to one final destination for a nightcap and farewells.

Ah, yes.

I know there are plenty other things to do of a Thursday evening in spring: go dancing, see concerts (or “shows” as the kids today call them, I’m told), attend lectures, binge-watch your Netflix queue, but the gravitational force of two-wheeled adventures keeps calling you back; even without an online presence, people show up and somewhat more surprisingly, keep going, in spite of injuries, work, and the impending dystopian future that lies in wait for us all.

The good news is that during the zombie apocalypse following the Big One and Mt. Rainier blowing its top while the boreal forest burns to a crisp in a blizzard and the tsunami rolls inland, you’ll still have a bike to get around, so you can always look forward to showing up on Thursday at that massive smoking crevice where Westlake Center used to be and finding at least a handful of miscreants with whom to wobble off towards some ruined landscape for the sharing of homegrown and moonshine, which, come to think of it, isn’t all that different than how things work now, especially given the aforementioned internet-free rendezvousing.

Sure, it’s nice to wake up on Friday morning without a monkey in your mouth and gauze between your ears, but, honestly, it seems a small price of admission to so vitally prepare for our disheartening tomorrow and to so properly commemorate our delightful today.

Deilberations

The thing about riding a bike is that it’s like riding a bike: your body remembers how to do it and even if it’s been a while, it all comes back in a flash, and there you are, after an initial minor wobble, pedaling merrily on your way, as if you’ve been cycling happily non-stop all along.

The same goes for Thursday night adventures which, even when passed over for the better part of six months, immediately become familiar, right down to the intermittent drizzle and requisite regroup and safety meeting at the usual designated undesignated spot.

Our fair city offers a limited number of covered locations for assembling around a fire in the rain, so it’s not surprising that we ended up on the water’s edge with such a picturesque view of ferry boats literally passing like two ships in the night; nevertheless, on many a similar occasion, the assembled have been daunted by the distance and have opted for something closer to home.  Consequently, we heartily thank the American system of jurisprudence which indirectly made possible such a relatively ambitious endeavor through the good offices of one double-dad performing his civic duty.

No one went swimming and the off-road section of the trip was, though lovely, pretty tame, but for this sojourner, at least, it was all that could be wanted, and quite remarkable if you take the time to remark upon it.  

The world—not to belabor the point—is a huge and varied place: one where at the very same moment, people will, for instance, be performing complex traditional religious ceremonies in ancient temples while halfway across the globe, others will be connecting with their own conception of the divine through the liberal application of bikes, booze, and (non-gendered) brotherhood.  

And what’s thrilling to notice is that, different as they are, the practices are essentially similar; everywhere you look, human beings expressing their essential humanity by overcoming the human through ritual and fire.