A dream realized.
A sublime route revisited.
All you had to do was look up to be reminded that there’s no more beautiful spot on earth and so, when you get to glide down one of the smoothest descents in the city with several hundred other gobsmacked two-wheelers, it’s no surprise that the aftereffects might not have been as compelling as they might have been.
The Dead Baby Downhill has always been about limitless possibilities; today felt a little bit more like a superbly-crafted thrill ride: I was sure to be amazed and delighted, but my life wouldn’t change.
On the other hand, I left pretty early, way before the time when people tend to lose their bikes.
In some ways, the ride out to the starting line was the most salient feature of the event: I took Delridge, which—true to romanticized form—wasn’t really all that steep. Before I knew it, there I was in White Center and then, after a brief visit to Aaron’s shop, was, thanks to GregSomaFixed’s advice, pedaling over the last little steep hill in order to wind through the curves of High Point.
You couldn’t ask for a more ideal starting point: 2 dollar tallboys and spaghetti that made the eyes of all who sampled it glaze over with satisfaction.
The Mariners lost on the bar’s TV, but besides that, there was nothing, not nobody, I wasn’t delighted to see.
It’s a once a year thing, like Christmas or New Year’s, a holiday that absolves us of the responsibility to make the world a better place. Surprisingly, however, it is just that freedom which makes possible incremental changes in our lives.
It doesn’t matter what you’re striving for it you don’t know why you’re striving (maybe); mainly, the advice is to get much of what you want without hurting anyone else. This doesn’t guarantee that you’ll take first place in your age dvision, like I did, but it’s a start.
A sublime route revisited.
All you had to do was look up to be reminded that there’s no more beautiful spot on earth and so, when you get to glide down one of the smoothest descents in the city with several hundred other gobsmacked two-wheelers, it’s no surprise that the aftereffects might not have been as compelling as they might have been.
The Dead Baby Downhill has always been about limitless possibilities; today felt a little bit more like a superbly-crafted thrill ride: I was sure to be amazed and delighted, but my life wouldn’t change.
On the other hand, I left pretty early, way before the time when people tend to lose their bikes.
In some ways, the ride out to the starting line was the most salient feature of the event: I took Delridge, which—true to romanticized form—wasn’t really all that steep. Before I knew it, there I was in White Center and then, after a brief visit to Aaron’s shop, was, thanks to GregSomaFixed’s advice, pedaling over the last little steep hill in order to wind through the curves of High Point.
You couldn’t ask for a more ideal starting point: 2 dollar tallboys and spaghetti that made the eyes of all who sampled it glaze over with satisfaction.
The Mariners lost on the bar’s TV, but besides that, there was nothing, not nobody, I wasn’t delighted to see.
It’s a once a year thing, like Christmas or New Year’s, a holiday that absolves us of the responsibility to make the world a better place. Surprisingly, however, it is just that freedom which makes possible incremental changes in our lives.
It doesn’t matter what you’re striving for it you don’t know why you’re striving (maybe); mainly, the advice is to get much of what you want without hurting anyone else. This doesn’t guarantee that you’ll take first place in your age dvision, like I did, but it’s a start.
No comments:
Post a Comment