We used to gather a hundred or more of our closest friends and relations in a public park, roll out half a football field length of plastic, wet it with a garden hose, and spend the evening drinking grain-alcohol based party drinks and throwing ourselves down that slippery pathway, pine cones and tree roots be damned!
And we’d grapple in a kiddie swimming pool filled with goo while sporting glowstick jewelry until the cops made us fold up our party and take it to a crowded bar halfway across town where we’d sing karaoke until last call.
We thought nothing of riding all the way down south on one of Seattle’s longest streets to another town just to drink a beer in a pub that’s no longer there.
We would happily cross a floating bridge and head farther and farther east to end up at a real-live bicycle velodrome where we shotgunned beers and raced around until well after midnight.
We’d congregate on bicycles by the dozens and pedal to a fancy city park and cook mountains of waffles al fresco using the publicly-supplied electricity to do so.
We’d carry loads of Christmas trees on bicycles to the edge of the Puget Sound and light them on fire in a conflagration so large that the fire department would be called to extinguish it—and then we’d ride to another park and do it again with the leftovers.
We’d assemble five score or more of us, all dressed in white with red sashes, to gambol in a sylvan glade with people dressed as bulls and matadors.
We’d take a ferry boat and scale a mountain on two-wheelers to eat mushrooms and dance around a fire on a Thursday evening and still be back in time Friday morning for breakfast.
Now, we just ride to a parking garage for sunset viewing and a lake for moonrise swimming.
But that’s cool.
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