Bike Classic 2006

First off, this is the weirdest thing we saw today at the 2006 St. Paul Bike Classic. I'm sure Planet Dan will appreciate it - he has a thing for Elaine-esque dancing.


With that out of the way, we can move on to other things. It was a bad day for bike riding, it misted almost the full three hours we were on the road, and the temperature kept dropping from when we got up (54 degrees), to what felt colder than 54 degrees four hours later. But it could have been worse, it could have rained. And it didn't, not quite... It was a little more work this year (for me) as I haven't been biking in a month, and before that ride, I hadn't been biking in a month, but I finished all 30 miles without a post-ride nap (and even moved furniture and a canoe), so it also wasn't so bad. Group-wise, it was spectacular. Sandy had to bail on us for the Little Falls Craft Show this year (we're looking forward to her new shirt/jacket - last time it had moveable felt animals on it), but 12 people showed up to ride, and that's if you don't count Mean Mr. Mustard's family, or my family (plus in-laws, and family of in-laws), who rode separate. Nine of us went out for the annual breakfast at the St. Clair Broiler afterward where we debated how long we've been riding. Erik thought it was four years, until I pointed out that our first ride had been before his girlfriend was in charge of the ride, so that extended it to five years for the group. It seems to me that I rode one alone and one with my friend Mike before that, so I've been going for 7 of the 11 years. That's a lot of riding. I still remember how tired I was after the first one as I'd just started biking again after ten years of not really touching a bike.

On to the pictures. Here we are getting ready in the morning in front of Mean Mr. Mustard's house. I was the problem individual this year as I didn't hear my alarm go off and slept in. Christy and Scott wouldn't ring the doorbell because they were afraid they'd wake up Eryn. So instead, they wandered around the neighborhood, looking in people's windows - seriously. Well, her ex-husband's windows - that sounds way creepier than it really is. I told them they should have rung the doorbell and been standing there with a camera so they could catch me at the door just out of bed in a pair of boxers and no shirt. Sexy. I don't know what Ming and Gail are looking at on the ground, or if Brady is looking at Gail's backside...I just take the pictures.


Mean Mr. Mustard with a donut, or apple, or something. Why does his helmet sit so high on his head? It's unnatural. And why does he wear a fanny pack? And why if you accuse him of wearing a fanny pack does he get all defensive and claim it's just a shirt pocket and then tell you to "shut up"? What's he hiding in his faux fanny pack he doesn't want us to know about?


The Boss with helmet hair. That's Phil over his right shoulder (your left). Erik and I were discussing the Scouting association that works with cops (Explorer Scouts) and that some of them were volunteers that day. I pointed out that I knew some of those Scouts when I was a Scout, and that the individuals who were just in the Explorer Scout cop division and not regular Scouting never became cops, while those that did both Explorers and regular Scouting became cops. I ventured that perhaps those other ones became serial killers. Phil noted that he had been in the Explorer Scouts (cop division) but not regular Scouting. He had indeed not become a cop, and he assured us he was also not a serial killer. Then again, that's what a serial killer is likely to say.


Ming giving a friendly wave. He didn't stick around for breakfast as he had a Twins game. He's always bailing on breakfast. I don't think he feels comfortable being so close to the site of his first date with his wife without her along - especially after I talked about Heath Ledger's performance in Brokeback Mountain at him for a while and mentioned that if his wife and my wife liked the burbs, and we both liked the city, maybe we should find a condo and live a bachelor's life and just visit the women on the weekend. That's Mean Mr. Mustard to his left (your right), thinking about ditching us so he can get a head start with Gail.


Christy and Julie scheming or commiserating or something. Probably discussing Lisa who bailed on the 30 miler and breakfast for the 15 miler and a warm car. Lisa was riding a killer bike, so I'm not sure why she bailed - the bike should have been doing 90% of the work. Maybe they're just cold and conserving body warmth.


Mean Mr. Mustard's friend Tom, who came all the way from California to ride the ride (or maybe that was coincidence). I probably insulted him when I asked if he was Mean Mr. Mustard's father or Mean Mr. Mustard's wife's father. Glad he's not my boss or something. More importantly, I forgot to ask him about Mean Mr. Mustard dating Miss San Diego Harbor 1962, as he might know the real details and not just the bravado we hear every day at work. That's Gail to the right (your right). She was new this year too - a coworker. She's pondering how to get Mean Mr. Mustard to ditch us as she was all about moving. That rest stop business made her twitchy. She wanted to get to breakfast and a warm cup of something that wasn't coffee.


Erik looking all pleased about whatever he's eating, though he did claim he was a bit loggy five minutes later when he was back on his bike. Notice he doesn't have a cup of coffee. Notice that no one in any of the last several pictures has a cup of coffee. The Como stop had coffee. But the first stop (Indian Mound Park) did not. I, for one, needed a cup, given that it was 54 and misting. If you're from the Bike Classic Committee, take note, that's my only big complaint - no coffee at the Indian Mound Park rest stop. I heard me complain several times over the next several hours about just that fact.


Brady and Alan on their first year of the ride. I suspect Ming made them go with threats about project estimates and how they can be padded a bit for good behavior, or made intolerable for people he doesn't trust to be go-to guys. Julie, in the lower right (your right) is watching the dancers in the video at the beginning of the post. They had several actual dances - most of them curiously similar. They didn't have helmets, so we were pretty sure that ruled them out as Classic riders. Maybe homeless people who lived in the park and can't afford dance classes?


Christy and Julie - all good rides involve a lot of hugging. Erik suggested we ride a bike in the future that would support all of us.


This isn't that bike. He was suggesting a more circular sort of thing.


Ah....here it is, the Conference Bike. Very weird that the picture I found was actually a picture of a bunch of Italians riding one on Nicollet Avenue in Minneapolis. Anyway, I think both pictures imply what Mean Mr. Mustard was suggesting, that it might be a little more intimate than a hug. That thing in the center looks very useful as a place to put some plastic and ice to store a few Summits.


This almost looks like we have a mash-up to ride, but it's really just several of the bikes strapped together with many locks while we go in for breakfast at the St. Clair Broiler. The theory is to make it so confusing that a thief wouldn't know what to cut in order to make off with a bike.


Mean Mr. Mustard, Tom, Gail, Phil, Christy and Julie having breakfast. Tom and Gail had the vegetarian omelet. Phil had the Club breakfast with a side of bacon. Christy had the muffin/biscuit with gravy thing. And Julie had french toast, ala cart. Mean Mr. Mustard also had an omelet - looked like it had meat. Just in case you need the gritty details.


Julie, Scott and Erik. Check out Erik's new Tech Lead do. Damn that's short and professional. He's such a corporate suck-up now. Also note that we have coffee. Lots of coffee. All the coffee they didn't give me at the Indian Mound Park rest stop.


Me. Do I look like I haven't had a bath and just rode 30 miles in the mist so that I'm sitting around in a damp pull over? Naw...I'm very happy. Biking with friends is just good times.