Last night, I made it. Beginning in the heart of GR, we would ride a 16 mi route in urban and rural landscapes. A variety of bikes were represented; cobbled-together builds, vintage bikes, bikepacking and touring bikes, fixies, hybrids, whatever those bikes are that you ride on the rear wheel, and one Platypus. Not represented: high-tech carbon fiber/time trial bikes with roadies astride them. The reason would soon become apparent.
We set off. Bikes were all over the road. “The kids”, a group of teens who ride their rear wheels set themselves up as “blockers” so we could move through intersections. The drivers seemed unbothered. J said, “Leah, I forgot to tell you we are going to blow red lights. The police prefer we do so we stay in one group.” The ride has been going for 20 years, so I guess the drivers expect this. I did as I was told, casting nervous glances over my shoulder at J.
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Most of my miles come from club rides. Club rides prize order, communication, pace, predictability. This ride was a free-for-all. Jubilant and raucous. Music blared from speakers strapped to frames. People sipped beer. The scent of weed hung in the air. The Kids zipped about on one wheel. We had two crashes in the first 20 minutes. I vacillated between having fun and feeling terrified.
One minute we were in the city, the next we were in the woods on a paved trail, bodies of water surrounding us. The sounds of the creatures in the woods were as loud as the music on the bikes. We sailed over bridges, veered off onto gravel, our giant band of bikes wending its way along the route. It was gorgeous.
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We stopped at a giant pavilion, strung with outdoor lights, and rabblerousing ensued. People laughed and visited, music played, fireflies flickered overhead. At nearly 10 pm, in the pitch black of night, they mounted their bikes, got back on the trail and planned to end at a bar.
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The woods felt like they were closing in on us. Like that scene in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. It was THRILLING, and I smiled to myself in the dark. Suddenly there was yelling at the front and SLOWING….I couldn’t make out the word at first. SKUNK!!! An actual skunk was running along the path. We dared not pass him for fear of smelling more like skunk than the weed smoke had already done to us.
I skipped the bar; J rode me to my truck and helped me load my Platypus. The Platypus was perfect for this; chunky tires and compact size, front and rear dyno lights, resplendent in color and quite the conversation starter.
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I got home at midnight; my teenagers were waiting up for me. If they had walked in the door smelling like I did, I’d have grounded them on the spot.
10/10 would do again.
Note: I was stone-cold sober, putting TWO electrolyte tabs in my water was as wild as I got. Lest you think poorly of me. 😊
