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Bike Rides 104
One S’more Over The Line
Summer is officially here, not so much based on the calendar and
certainly not the weather, but the fact that my neighbor Hank
and I have kicked off summer weekend night bike rides. Recently
we were invited out to a favorite friend’s country place
north of town 10 miles for a bonfire, s’mores and of course
fireworks.
The ride started off kind of late, as this
spring’s daily rainstorm decided to start when we were launching
from my house. Once the rain delay was officially lifted we didn’t
get far down the road before Hank’s bike started making
a clicking noise that gradually seemed to be getting louder. After
a thorough inspection we couldn’t pinpoint the cause and,
though noisy, the bike was functioning properly so we tuned in
the Twins’ game on the radio to drown out the annoyance
and forged ahead.
A few miles later a growing headwind from
the north started adding a burn to our legs, so we took a rest
before reaching Lansing. Here the batteries in the speaker faded
and then died. Hank’s eyes looked how I felt and I think
we both were possibly regretting the decision to start the long
ride so late. Speechless and rolling again we were left with only
the rhythm of the growing click from Hank’s drive-train,
now nearly elevated to the level of a clack.
The last mile of our route turned us up
218 North and the Chateau Speedway let out as race fans started
flooding the highway just ahead of us. Race fans usually jacked-up
on adrenaline from the high-speed contest in the first place can
be dangerous or at least less courteous drivers. We said a Hail
Mary put our heads down and sprinted quickly toward the smoke
visibly drifting from our friend’s fire, soon close enough
to smell, and then close enough to see the flame, and then we
were finally there.
All woes on the way out were quickly forgotten.
There was a group of friendly kids eager to greet us, some of
them familiar, some not. I became popular really fast when I broke
out a Ziplock sandwich baggie crammed full of over-sized “Campfire”
marshmallows.
Later, our approval numbers spiked again
when Hank and I snuck away to set of a supply of Roman Candles
and colorful rockets. The surprise element of a fireworks show
really adds to the experience for any crowd, but especially the
young.
I don’t mess around when it comes
to pyrotechnics. I smuggle a crap-ton of high test arsenal across
the Minnesota South Dakota border a couple times a summer. I’m
pretty sure I could hold my own against NATO for a few days if
necessary. But even I wasn’t prepared for the McDaddy finale’
about to be laid out.
“Redneck Party” was the name
of the top dollar, top-shelf, Mich Golden Light 15 pack sized
firework we saved for the end of the night. Man did that package
provide a show. Multiple cylinders firing exploding mortar high
into the damp June night air for a cathartic release I haven’t
felt since they cut the cast off my broken right hand back in
the fourth grade. This WMD really lit the place up, and instantly
Hank and I achieved rock-star status, getting thumbs up and high
fives from the enthusiastic, appreciative crowd. That firework,
as my friend Mr. Hardy put it, was indeed for church.
When the kids, intoxicated with s’mores
and activity, started passing out one-by-one, we said our goodnights
and headed for the bikes. In the garage I hopped on an 18 inch
girl’s bike with training wheels for a victory lap in the
driveway to the delight of the remaining guests around the fire,
especially one self described soccer mom who seemed convinced
this was actually my bike. Then, with impeccable timing Hank came
out turning circles on a 16 inch boy’s bike, his knees rising
to his ears with each revolution of the pedals.
The ride home was much more enjoyable than
the ride out. Our friends had supplied us with fresh batteries
for the speaker and we shuffled the iPod with a custom Hank Mix
of music. With a slight breeze on our backs and our fuel tanks
full of chocolate, marshmallow and graham crackers, we made quick
work of the ten mile ride home.
Though it was late, I lay awake for awhile,
reflecting on our first real summer night ride of 2011 and how
fun the party was. I thought about how we struggled on the ride
out, with one pesky problem after another, and how relieved I
was to overcome them.
The record still stands, I thought to myself
just before slipping into dreamland; I’ve never regretted
taking a bike ride.
Traffic Tip: Enjoy your
Independence Day celebration my fellow Americans; still the best
holiday ever.
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