I can finally announce that I’ve had an awesome weekend. How often do those happen, as of late? They’re pretty rare. I’ve moved across the country twice in two years, and with that comes a great deal of social rebuilding. I’m not the kind of person who runs out and magically adopts a crew. It’s more likely that I’d hide under a rock. Alas, this weekend arrived with a full schedule, the perfect thing for staring down the ever-more-looming months of palid indoor frustration that lie ahead.

Lisa and I headed up Killingsworth to our friend Dina’s house for an informal sort of dinner party. Along the way, we procured beerstuffs at New Seasons. I had plans for later in the evening that called for a high beer-to-weight ratio with secondary objectives of economy and sharability. High Life was the only viable option. Six-pack strapped to my back, we continued to Dina’s and hung out for awhile, sampled the hot sauces, etc. Meanwhile, it’d become rather cold and wet outside. Shitty.

For months I’d considered doing the “Midnight Mystery Ride“– one of the many bike-related events in Portland. Now I’m usually conflicted about these hyper-social (and always mega-self-congratulatory) activities. It’s always centered around the ostensibly “fun” and “wacky” elements of the so-called bike “community”, and all too often they come off like a collection of overgrown man-children looking for an excuse to wear a tutu, an afro wig and clown shoes in a desperate bid for attention. In short: a little depressing.

But this ride promised booze and a couple friends of mine who’d agreed to go along. Most everyone bailed due to the cold rain that suddenly swept through the east side of town, though, and we were down to a crew of three. I decided to say fuck-it-all and go anyway, wetness or not. With a rain jacket– but lacking rain pants– I got a thorough soaking on my way to the Bullpen Tavern, the pre-determined starting point of the ride. Within thirty minutes, the place had filled with about forty wet individuals carrying lights and bike helmets. Kristi and her friend Jana showed up and had a couple rounds of PBR to prepare. At midnight, the ride was on.

The route unfolded, taking us along a whole mess of streets in SW Portland that I never manage to travel. We cut through PSU and crossed a pedestrian bridge over Hwy 99 towards the South Waterfront. Making our way was a little treacherous– forty people getting used to each others’ space; tall bikes wavering around gravel and difficult intersections…an awesome time for all. We meandered on through construction zones and wide, calm avenues now thick with blinky lights and hollering boozehounds.

We eventually hit the banks of the river at Willamette Park, winding along seemingly forever on the otherwise deserted footpath. A few chunks of development gave way to “the off-road optionl”– a muddy ‘lil segment of ruts along a level rail bed. Some of us sloshed ahead on that while others skirted it for the paved road above, which would down the hill past a powerboat shop’s towering fluorescent sign. The pavement ended at the onramp of a bridge, where we rolled into Powers Marine Park and stopped under the Sellwood Bridge.

Some folks hauled some wood along with for the ride, and soon we were drinking beer by campfire on the rocky, slippery shores of the river. I reconvened with my traveling companions and set about shooting the shit with an assortment of random folks. Good times were had. Several hours later, I tagged along with some NE-bound riders heading home for the night, taking the quite expedient Springwater Trail and Esplanade back home. I stumbled in the front door sometime after 5am, exhausted from a truly awesome night of actually participating in something for once. Huzzah.