I am a geezer. I’ve been around the block many more times than I care to count. My wife, the love of my life, gets me to do a lot of things I would not normally do on my own.
Nowadays, that includes riding a bicycle much longer and farther than my normal seven-mile loop down to the stop sign and back. For instance, my second time out this past spring she said, “Let’s bike down to Toots for an ice cream.”
Whenever my wife allows me an ice cream, which is practically never, I can’t refuse. Whoops, a round-trip of 16 miles. Bad decision. I hobbled for the next two days.
My wife returned home one day late in the summer very enthused about a mysterious “bike party” that rode around Portland in the early evening. I was curious, especially because a friend had done it with her and was equally enthused.
From what I could deduce, a “bike party” was a group of bicyclists who mysteriously mash up at a starting point where a self-appointed leader has planned a route through various neighborhoods. The route then leads to an assembly point where a spontaneous dance party occurs, then everybody’s back on the bikes to the original starting point using a different route. Finally, everyone loads up their bikes and heads to who knows where.
When the word next went out, people assembled at some public gardens. This was indeed a motley crew of conveyances, including bicycles of all kinds and vintages, electric bikes, tandems, transporter bikes, a skateboarder or two, a bike trailer with a boombox, and some odd creations on one, two or three wheels that defy description.
The people assembled were of all ages, and persuasions. The mood of the crowd was low key but buzzing with excitement. We were cautioned to “ride cool,” which I assumed meant that it would be a crowded route and we’d be going slowly.
Soon we headed out into the neighborhoods. Up a street here, turn right, then left, up a hill, down the other side, stop and wait for a light to change, then ever forward into the night.
At intersections there were guides with light batons cautioning other traffic of our presence. As if 200 riders could be missed! Then, a dance party with all the lights of the bikes, the boombox crushing tunes from the 60s to the oughts, lighted hula hoops, a remarkable inflatable dancing unicorn, and laughter and hilarity. Then back to the bike party snaking our new route back to the start.
As we rode by, people came out on their porches shouting encouragement and sharing in our happiness to be out in the night, with the full moon, enjoying ourselves.
Several cars stopped to let us pass, sharing the mood of the moment. Too quickly we were back, wondering at the magic of the night’s experience.
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