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July 29, 2006
The Thundering Herds- July Critical Mass!
How did it happen?? The last Friday of the month crept up and it was time for Critical Mass July! Which promised to be an interesting one, for there was much online yammering well in advance! With rumors of yachting (and a genre of music I had never heard of, Yacht Rock, on someone's sound system. Which seemed comprised of the most putrid swill of the 80s, and possibly 70s? Here is what I heard~ Christopher Cross, and Toto.) beach-going, body-painting, nude swimming (sorry, didn't make it that far- sad, I know) thousands of brownies having been baked in advance at the Hub Co-op a band of French musicians on folding bikes, and most of all Massing Up!!! Because these summertime Masses have gotten so big things get strung out, people get left in the dust, cars creep in!
My evening began auspiciously enough, I got off the Red Line (where a drunken guy with a Huffy- which, whenever I see one of those things, I think of the sticker on the tool box at West Town Bikes. "If Huffy Built An Airplane, Would You Fly In It?" and I have to bite my tongue- tried to cram his bike in next to mine, in rush hour train capacity! And while I tried to be patient with him, he broke off my newly glued on fake hummingbird. Which I made him bend down and fetch from under my seat.) and was coming down Washington when I ran smack into Garth!
Sweet, wonderful Garth who I haven't seen in some time, and who, in the meantime has become Daddy to Amelie! (I hope I am spelling it right!) So we chatted for a while, there on the corner, blocking off busy pedestrians with stroller and bike, respectively.
I was early for the Mass, but headed over to Delay Plaza anyway, where a few bikers were milling about, including Willow, wearing tassels and very little else! Getting her body painted by boys. We love Willow and her enthusiasm for boobies. In fact, it is because of Willow posting to the listserve, that hundreds of us are now aware that "amazon.com has a special: serve 16 people for $20 (Temporary Tattoos, Pasties, 8-Pair Packages [Pack of 2])". Hey, I'm there.
Anyway, so it was still a long time until the Mass would take off, but bikes began gathering, friends greeted eachother, and I made a new friend, Paul, a shaggy-haired, enthusiastic Francophile with big white pimp sunglasses, sitting by the fountain with his fixie.
Then I sat with my feet dangling in the water, next to some rather pungent shirtless boys, and some girls (less smelly, in shirts) and watched the merriment, as people took off their shoes, waded to the center and showered in the spray, many doing the full-body soaking, wringing their hair and their clothes, laughing.
When my feet had pruned sufficiently I wandered into the crowd, searching for friend David, (who I'd planned to ride with, but never did find) and greeting old and new friends, including Martin, who never wears a helmet, but carries one just in case (oh, I know that scenario. It happens.) and Sarah, who taught me, among other things, that for adjusting brake cables there is a third hand, a fourth hand, but no fifth hand.
There was also Travesty, with his modified tall/former drum bike, whose calves were looking so good I fought the urge to lick them all evening- don't tell him I said it!
The ride took off, with Ho3ard and his sound trailer out in front, and me following closely behind Ho3ard, as is my custom, as he always has the best musical taste, and plus he always knows the route.
It was a nice, long, snakey route, and as always did my heart so much good to howl through highway tunnels, wave, smile and yell "Happy Friday" at spectators, hear the sweet whirring of thousands of feet pedaling, feel the breeze on my face and arms. Time loses meaning and I am one with my pony, and my legs forget they are pedaling.
Last night was a joyous Sout' Side ride, which, I have to admit some initial trepidation, as it puts me far from home and in unfamiliar territory. But I am always pleased when the ride goes through Pilsen, which is often seems to, as the mostly-Mexican community welcomes our party, smile, wave, honk, and cheer us on from their yards and porches. There are also many beautiful, wildly colorful murals and highly decorated gardens.
One ride highlight happened in Pilsen, kids with an open fire hydrant soaked us as we rode past! It was quite welcome in the heat! Oh my. And afterwards I made another friend, whose name I didn't get, a funny, friendly chap with an interesting tattoo, the name Sophia, with heart, banner, arrow. "Who's Sophia?" I said, pointing, after we had been chatting, riding along in our wet clothes. Oh, you know, someone, one of those regrettable past someones, this someone who had been on the back of a hog at the Sturgis Harley rally some years ago. Sophia is long gone, and plus, I found out, it costs way more to have these things removed than put on. Let that be a lesson to you, he said. I still want a heart with Marcel..
Oh!!! Dear readers, are you still with me??? Helllloooo?
The bittersweet, climactic, and slightly dramatic ride wrap-up details are as follows, summarized briefly~
• The 33rd street bridge over the expressway is where it happened. The helmetless young man immediately to my left, riding a road bike, quickly passing me as we sped downhill, hit a bump. There was a collective intake of breath. As if in slow motion I keep replaying the movie of it in my head- the arc of his body as it flew over the handlebars, the sound of his jaw hitting concrete, his eyes closing tightly in a terrible grimace, the rest of his body catching up, rolling over and then laying still, legs bent, back arched painfully, eyes closed. The side of his face beginning to bruise, then bleed, the sound of bikes dropping to the ground and people yelling. I couldn't get my phone to turn on. People were yelling for a doctor or nurse, and yelling not to touch him. Other riders were coming over the bridge and parting around the scene and there was yelling to clear the bridge for the ambulance. Maybe I should have moved away, but I was frozen on the spot and felt I had to make sure the ambulance came, and that they took him away, to confirm he wasn't dead, and if I left I wouldn't know. My knees were shaking and I wandered over to Ho3ard, who had been near, and works in a hospital, and knows about these things, and tried to ask, but all I could say, through my hands, was "omg I saw it happen, I saw it happen, I saw his chin hit the ground omg is he going to be ok omg." Ho3ard said it looked like he was going to be ok, he rubbed my shoulder and said we should get moving.
Some continued on to the beach, I was feeling dazed and got on the train, where I ran into Willow, who offered me Gatorade, and was now wearing a dress over her tassles.
Note to self- never place phone calls to people who say you should call them, even if maybe they mean you shouldn't, or you should but not really, or are in any doubt, when you are full of endorphins, adrenalin, and fear. Just wait. Because, just fyi, you might regret it later.
•And plus George will appear, show you his Ganesh tattoo, and sing you a song.
•More about George later.
•Still in all, big thanks to Michael for picking me up and bringing me home.
•And also to the Big Dawg for all his concern.
Posted by at July 29, 2006 07:41 AM
Comments
Yacht Rock, on someone's sound system. Which seemed comprised of the most putrid swill of the 80s, and possibly 70s? Here is what I heard~ Christopher Cross, and Toto.)
Wow, that's a great name for those bands. It really brings out just how much they suck.
Posted by: rob helpy-chalk at July 29, 2006 11:50 AM