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Friday the 13th is supposed to be bad luck and yes, that was true when it came to the weather, at least insofar as wetness is bad, as it was surely the rainiest evening we’ve seen in some time, although not quite the deluge of that one year when holiday festivities began at the Beacon Pub during an authentic Pineapple Express.

And sure, scheduling a holiday event for the end of a workday when all those frustrated commuters are trying to fit their cars into long lines of traffic over bridges and underpasses is probably less than ideal, but at least you’re on a bike and can take the sidewalk to get where you want when you want to.

It doesn’t really require all that much to overcome whatever residual bad juju comes along with the date; frankly, a bicycle trailer mounted mobile fire pit is plenty to get things going and if that means initially, the race has to follow the flames rather than the other way around, then isn’t that perfectly in keeping with the spirit of the event, which is all about dumb choices and unexpected outcomes, right?

Good, clean, Christmastime fun is what it comprises: racing bicycles through dark, muddy forests, drinking whiskey straight from the bottle, leg-wrestling old friends, and everyone talking at the top of their lungs simultaneously; if this isn’t what Jesus had in mind when He immaculately conceived, then Santa doesn’t wear red and slide down people’s chimneys bringing toys to all good little boys and girls.

Turning water into wine is easy; it takes a real holiday miracle to turn the shittiest night of the year into the best times for everyone.

Gifts were exchanged, trophies awarded, and all the problems of the world were solved in conversations that aren’t remembered in the morning.  

Two thousand and twenty four years after the miraculous event upon which all this is based, it keeps getting better, or dumber, at least.