It threatened to be cold and wet again this year, like last year - and the temperature felt in the 50s when we started. You could see the exhaust on idling cars. Not as cold as the first few years I went myself, one of which pretty much had frost on the ground - but not a comfortable riding temperature either. It stayed cold until after Indian Mound park when I was finally able to ditch my pull over. We had nine riders this year: me, Mean Mr. Mustard, Ming, Erik, Sandy (who bailed on us for a craft fair last year), Tom (the joke last year was that he was Mean Mr. Mustard's father, but he's really just his friend from California), Alan, Kurt - who was a new rider this year, you can catch him playing accordion at Half Time Rec with the Cajun Hot Soles, I have - and Ryan, also on his first year with us. Gail bailed on us to ride with her boyfriend (I think that qualifies as cheating on us), Christy bailed on us for a run, Lisa doesn't go anywhere without Christy, Phil has a new baby and volunteer fire fighter gig, and Boss doubled booked and went to play poker until the wee hours of the morning and make obscene breast gestures at the next door neighbors. He probably wasn't doing that, but I'm going to accuse him, because he wasn't on the ride, and because he was accused by his inlaws' cabin neighbors of doing just that, which is really funny. He should have skipped poker and gone riding, as he'll have to subtract the entry fee from his poker winnings, and that's no way to play poker.
Highlights included Ryan injuring himself. The first injury in the group that I'm aware of. None of us saw it, but he took a tumble somewhere and hit the ground. His hand was all scraped up and I gave him my water bottle at Indian Mound to clean up at the porta potty washing station. I hope he used my water bottle and not the porta potty water - who knows where the hell that comes from.
We also got to enjoy riding behind a nice young lady who was paranoid enough about bike thieves, while surrounded by hundreds of unlocked bikes, that she popped her front tire off at the rest stop while she went to find a snack. Oh yeah....and she was wearing a thong. Sandy and I were talking during the ride, and Mean Mr. Mustard looked like he was just ready to burst. He finally blurted out, "That can't be comfortable!" To me. Not to her. I agreed. A few moments later two bikers rode past discussing Victoria Secret shopping - obviously the thong was a topic of discussion beyond our group. I just couldn't bring myself to take a picture of her riding with the thong sticking out - one, because it seemed rude, despite the thong hanging out there in a bike ride with thousands of people, and two, I don't want a million viewers on my blog just to see a biking thong. At least if I did, I'd want them to be here to think about how itchy and uncomfortable it looked, not whether it was sexy. As a PSA, I'd like to point out that biking shorts are made so you don't have to concern yourself with the thong v. panties issue (just to nip this in the bud, I'm referring in general to women, not to myself), you go commando.
Unfortunately, Mean Mr. Mustard didn't get the memo. Here he is adjusting his thong before using the facilities. Told you they were itchy.
There were a couple of riders this year who went above and beyond. Mean Mr. Mustard saw a turkey bike, and there was also a buffalo bike (What did the mother buffalo say as her child left to join another herd? Bi-son.)...
A bee or wasp bike...
And a narwhal bike (Mean Mr. Mustard made a rude joke about the narwhal and the stilt lady)...
Ming, Erik and Sandy getting ready for the ride. I should have
Wait...that last one was a bad picture because you can't see Sandy's socks. She actually pulled them down at Indian Mound park because she thought people were staring. I can't imagine why. Maybe you can figure it out in this photo of her riding with Tom.
Alan, Ryan and Ming discussing something near the Como rest stop, maybe the thong. Alan's making a gesture suspiciously like someone snapping an exposed waistband. Maybe they're discussing the bell on my bike. I ding it at Ming all the time when we're riding. I expect if I ever leave my bike alone in his vicinity, it might disappear. The ride out of Como was interesting as we rode right through where some of the tree damage from the storm had been.
Alan, shortly after ripping out the heart of another Bike Classic biker and preparing to consume it in an attempt to steal their strength and finish the ride. I know, I know...I should have done a video so you could see that it was so fresh it was still beating. He did finish the ride, so there must be some truth to the practice and the fact that heart goes best with lemonade.
Como rest stop. I don't know why there are so many porta potties in my pictures. I blame it on good organization skills by the Bike Classic folks who really don't want you to leave a dump anywhere inappropriate. I showed them. I appreciate that they took my advice from last year and had a different billboard up on the last leg, one without the giant spray-painted penis on it for all the kiddies to see - way to go!
Kurt enjoying the music at the Como Pavilion.
Afterward, we all went out for breakfast at the St. Clair Broiler, newly remodeled since last year. Breakfast of consensus, despite Mean Mr. Mustard's irritation about grain in an omelet, was the Iron Lake omelet. Four (4) eggs, ham, swiss cheese, wild rice, hash browns, and choice of toast. Yum. The wild rice mixed surprisingly well with the swiss and eggs.
Music at the end of the ride. I think the song was called Single Male looking for Single Female.
2007 Picture Set on Flickr.
3 comments:
What time did you start at? All of your pictures and times seem like they would have been the same time I was there. But I was watching for your peloton of riders and never saw you.
I wandered through the crowd for a while looking for you, and didn't have any luck either. We generally park just north of Snelling, and then bike to the ride at 7:00 a.m. sharp, so we start about 7:30 once everyone is checked in and has bought a $5 previous year jersey if they don't have a pullover, etc. But we don't really ride as a solid group - we tend to break up into 2s and 3s that fluctuate based on the topic of conversation - biking, blogs, work, kids, thongs, etc. (although we all finish within seconds of each other).
Did you go with anyone else this year?
Scooter means just east of Snelling. He's terrible at directions, and routinely gets lost several times during the ride.
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