High fives were going around for having completed my bike and for having survived her first major shake down ride.
My friend Jason lamented that it must have been nice to go for a ride. While I had invited him to come along work would have kept him busy beyond our prompt 5:30 departure time.
He instead had agreed to meet his friends later that night to go for a ride. Its not surprising that the parking lot of Canadian’s Tim Horton’s was packed with bikes and riders sweating it out in heavy leathers on the warm summer night. Promises of “another ten minutes” and “right away” postponed the evening until Jason finally gave up, took the long way home and called it a night.
Ride night is just that Ride night. Why people think driving five minutes to the local coffee shop and standing around for four hours as a ride night is beyond me.
My friends and I always plan to ride somewhere. The 40 or so miles to Ardill were nothing extravagant. A half hour of riding, taking in the countryside, wondering if the dark clouds on the horizon would bring rain. Ardill boasts a proud population of no one but it does have a bar with cold beer and hot food. We talked about the ride, talked about my bike, concerts coming up and stories from back in the day about a three-week diet of Denny’s and CCR.
We laughed, we smiled, we gave the barkeep a hard time about being the only ones she’s seen all day.
Then it was back on the road heading home. As we entered the city we waved goodbye to friends as they splintered off towards their own homes.
We didn’t go far, usually don’t keeping the ride to under an hour, just far enough to forget about the day and the week and fall into that hypnotic rhythm of tar snakes under thundering pipes. We spent just as much as the guys standing in the parking lot, but we shared the stories, shared the road that only riding miles can give.
-bad Uncle Monkey