benparsons.com

as macabre as that sounds, i’m actually just going to write about my experience at the dead baby downhill race this weekend. i don’t really remember which day it was.

first off here is a link to some serious journalism on the subject, for those of you who like your local news to be more “news-y” LINK

for those who have stayed to hear my report, it can be found below.

(below)

(a little further down)

(almost there)

so- i get on my lowrider rat patrol bike, known as clint eastwood
(mel and clint)
and by the time i make it up to winchell’s, which shares a parking lot with the food-love of my life, Rancho Bravo Taco Truck, i’ve got myself a flat back tire.

so clint and i walked home, to switch out for my 56 times faster, but 14 times less cool road bike, Nacho. (Nacho and i, after a violent hail-storm of a commute)

so i pick up Nacho and roll up to Phinney Ridge where the race will begin at a little place i like to call “el chupacabre” (mostly because that is what it is called. it’s named after a creature of questionable existence)

after registering and getting my shirt and very important dead baby drink bottle, i sat around and looked at some great bikes until the race began.

ok, here is the secret– it’s not really a race. it’s a bunch of people riding their bikes down a bunch of hills in order to arrive at a giant bike party with lots of beer. don’t tell anybody. i mean, there is an actual messenger race that’s a part of it, but i’m not a messenger so that is not relevant.

we get to the spot after some shenanigans involving bubba’s kid bike chain coming off, him ripping the chain guard off with his bare f-ing hands and then finishing the ride, and a giant “conference bike” rolling down 2 lanes of traffic.

i forgot my camera, so there are no actual shots of the party here. it’s sort of like bigfoot- if i did have pictures, they’d be all shady and shaky anyway, as it’s a requirement to be drinking the entire time (ok, i made that part up- you only have to drink two thirds of the time).

i saw some impressive bunny-hopping skillz, ate a burger, and listened to some rockabilly while in the beer line. i spent a lot of time in the beer line. this was not because it was exceptionally long, it’s more to do with the fact that i drank a lot of beer.

after a few more competitions i decided to hop on Nacho and ride home at about 11:30. this is because i am old. i am almost 31. that’s about 1/3 of john mccain’s age. unfortunately, this means that i missed the tall-bike jousting, but i was pretty… “tired”, so i left. here is a youtube of last year’s race/party. i couldn’t find one of this year’s (weeeeak)

so on my way back, i’m riding on the burke-gilman, trying not to stop, fall over, get hit by cars, fall over, or fall over, when all of a sudden, i fall over. on my side. on the pavement. it still hurts.

i am an idiot.

it was also pretty funny.

pictured above is a bike i got off of craigslist. i was thinking about calling him scruffy, but i’m not sure about that. it sort of sounds like what you’d name a cute little puppy. so: what do you think i should name him? make me proud, friends.