Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Beautiful B.I.K.E. ride tonight - yep it was!

About 50 folks came out to Hemphill 1919 for a group ride to our movie-screening site. We rode from South of downtown to Northwest of downtown and it felt like nothing, no effort, little exertion, no time, no sweat. Why? Cuz it was with a group of laidback though hard-peddling youngsters, midsters, and oldskoolsters on an assortment of two-wheeled conveyances that made us look like a night-time circus act. Some mutant bikes were definitely in the mix. I love those tall bikes, and watching the smooth dismounts from those elevated seats, well, it's pretty cool. I think only one person skidded out, but that was only a minor mishap.

The film itself (B.I.K.E. -- the documentary about subterranean bike culture in NYC, Minneapolis, and other places, was provocative and lively, with plenty of tall bike jousting sequences--if you're into that kind of thing) was projected onto the exterior wall of a FW studio art building (Studio 817) and we all sat outside popping open our carefully-packed bottles and cans for relaxing consumption. When the night clouds pulled back like theater curtains, you could see the full-ish blue moon (yep, it's officially full tomorrow, but it's blue right now, if you know what that means) peeking out for a shine over the top of the building.

Eventually, the lightning chimed in for its equally-inspiring display which competed with the film for our attention. Some folks peeled off to head home (Denton people came out for this, dudes!) before any rain could sour the proceedings, but at least 20 of us stuck it out 'til the end. Then, we quickly unplugged, coiled up the cables and cords, packed up the stuff we'd brought with, and climbed back on our steeds to outrun the storm. It never came: the rain, the hail, the winds. Nothing like that impeded our flow, and neither did the motorists who had thinned out on the roads by midnight, and we seemed to have Henderson to ourselves. There is care and concern when you ride in a group, and we made sure we got home in one piece.

Thanks to Ramz and Trae and all the other individuals who worked collectively to organize this mad rad monthly bike ride.

Stay tuned for info on the next. !Hasta la proxima!


Steve-O said...

Thanks for the update, Tammy. I wish I could have been there but I had a previous engagement with the Stash Dauber. That was quite a light show last night, eh?

a.k.a. sunlit doorway said...

good times last night. very gratifying, and my body has hardly complained.

i truly want to do another autumn moon ride as i did in austin--on my birthday!--several years back. about 100 riders met up at 1am and we rode about 15 miles in about 3 hours (with a few breaks in grocery store parking lots). i borrowed a bike, a hand-welded job, which was a very sweet ride. exhilarating. it was cool stopping traffic on 6th street at 1:30 in the morning...

Steve-O said...

One of my favorite Austin memories was a cyclist who used to ride down Sixth Street late at night, singing as he rode. I'd be in bed with my window open on a spring night, and I'd hear him coming singing loud and clear with a voice like Sam Cooke. I could hear him in the distance, the whir of his wheels and his beautiful voice, getting louder until it reached a crescendo then slowly fading away.

Years later, I found a poem by Kenneth Rexroth that reminded me of this:

>Once, camping on a high bluff
>Above the Fox River, when
>I was about fourteen years
>Old, on a full moonlit night
>Crowded with whippoorwills and
>Frogs, I lay awake long past
>Midnight watching the moon move
>Through the half drowned stars. Suddenly
>I heard, far away on the warm
>Air a high clear soprano,
>Purer than the purest boy's
>Voice, singing, "Tuck me to sleep
>In my old 'Tucky home."
>She was in an open car
>Speeding along the winding
>Dipping highway beneath me.
>A few seconds later
>An old touring car full of
>Boys and girls rushed under
>Me, the soprano rising
>Full and clear and now close by
>I could hear the others singing
>Softly behind her voice. Then
>Rising and falling with the
>Twisting road the song closed, soft
>In the night. Over thirty
>Years have gone by but I have
>Never forgotten. Again
>And again, driving on a
>Lonely moonlit road, or waking
>In a warm murmurous night,
>I hear that voice singing that
>Common song like an
>Angelic memory.
>"A Singing Voice" by Kenneth Rexroth.

I love bikes.

a.k.a. sunlit doorway said...

You love bikes?

Then maybe you'll love my bicycle theater play, which'll be premiering here in FW in September. Am now in soft recruitment mode, eyeing folks to perform and produce this project w/ me. If you know of folks who might be inner-ested, please lemme know. thx.

Steve-O said...

Drop me a line. I know a few actors who might want to sign on. I can't act my way out of paper bag, but I could probably help somehow.