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.