Yesterday as I ate my sourmilk pancakes with superfresh blackberries from our fence, I saw what looked like a strung out team of roadies roll by.
Since our street doesn’t go anywhere, I put down my fork and headed out to the street.
I grabbed one of the movie posters FedEx brought earlier in the week, to promote a movie that has bicycles in it–it’s no surprise that the two-wheel set has become an Interesting Segment Of The Market. Since I’m hard pressed to promote something I haven’t seen, yet burdened by the clutter, I contemplated crossing the line between honest citizen and ovine consumer.
“You’re lost, right?”
As I proffered the poster for “Prime Rush”, one of the riders looked at me closely and said, “I know you! music camp!” I took a second look and said, “You’re the parking lot duty from Camp Harmony!” Then: “need a floor pump?”.
One of the men had a flat tire.
While the flat tire guy wrestled with the repair, I chatted with Phillip ( a fiddler)who somehow recalled my face from at least fifteen years ago, among the Santa Cruz redwoods.
“You need my postcard.” I was on that ovine side of the line, why not go for the gusto, and flog my teaching prowess?
Well, not everyone needed it but I pushed a couple of JP + Rat (available for five clams and a stamp) on them black & white art cards on ‘em.
(PG said “we were looking for a bathroom…this is the fast bunch in the club, there are several more who continued up the road”.
“Yes. We’re the Veloraptors…an East Bay group, like, you know, the Yellow Jackets”.
“Can I please come on your ride?”
Did I really ask? Or did I just grab my bike? This is a prime opportunity to examine more closely the line between fact and wishful (in this case, politened-up) fiction.
Thus it was that I accompanied a random group exploring Marin on a fine Wednesday morning. And did my level best to “school” the Fast Guy, catch up with Phil ( the Tall Guy on Orange Bike), and later, guide the Artist-With-An-Artist back to the Fairfax Cyclery lot where they’d all parked.