MIKEY

Well, first I show up at Harvey's at 8 only to find Bonz and Jeni and about 10 other people just leaving that very instant, so I get stuck carrying my (even heavier than last year) Zo all the way to Guerneville (cause I was planning to find a car to stash most of the bulky stuff in). Then I end up taking cheese factory on the single speed (with 20 lbs. in the Zo). But cheese factory turned out to really not be as bad as I'd remembered it or people keep on saying it is-I rode all the hills in a 46/16, so it can't be that bad. The ride up seemed a bit more disjointed than last year, like people had started leaving Harvey's in smaller groups rather than in one big group like they did last year, but our group started mysteriously getting bigger from golden gate bridge on. Dunno where the hell the people came from, but somehow we were a much bigger group when we got to Petaluma. Not as many stops for me as last year, and most of the space between Petaluma and Guerneville was covered in really spaced-out groups of 2 or 3, it seemed. More people than last year, maybe-[Mike Russo] was spotted keeping a good distance from the main group at various locations on the way. Cat made it once again on the Aero bike-his final trip on a tank, he says-we'll see about... Not quite as hot as last year on the River, but still couldn't have asked for nicer weather. Bonz and Jeni get the prize for having the most toys with them, having had someone drive their truck up for them gully loaded. But whoever the guys with the 60s powerboat were, someone should make sure they're there again next year, cause I didn't get to ride. Missed the run to the go-karts for the second year in a row, but there's always next year, eh?

-Joel

STEPHANIE & CARLO

The adventure began Friday night at Covered Wagon, where I met Laurie, American, and Carl for beer and dancing to a most excellent surfer band! Many beers and bruises (after we met at Laurie & America's for pizza and a friendly neighborhood tow). By now Carl was surely regretting joining the Team Glue Solidarity Slumber Party!

After getting Carl's truck out of impound, we loaded up bikes & gear and headed to my house at the beach. It was 1am when we finally got there and crashed

The next morning took an eternity because we had to do all our slumber party stuff first: hair dye, giggling, laundry, etc. (Poor Carl actually lived through this). With still more stuff to do (more gear, find Suzanne's house, beer run), we finally got on the road about 4 pm. Never have I witnessed such mayhem!

Saturday night, after raising the bra flag on our tents, we commenced drinking much beer and wine. I remember Carl getting America's boot in his head and no one slept after that. We had such giggles from Dumptruck's snoring symphony and Trogg's smelly feet that I had an asthma attack! Sleep was not happening so Laurie and I enjoyed some muscle relaxants and Carlo Rossi by the fire. I couldn't keep my shoes tied for some reason! Someone always came to my rescue so I thank all who did for me what I should have learned in kindergarten! Staying on my feet was also a challenge as Lance & Mikey's brawl in the mud over the color of the sky kept knocking me down. I guess I was in the way or something.

It's always fun to wake up drunk so running with the oblivion idea was easy! From what I barely remember, Sunday consisted of sexist volleyball, more drinking, and Lance's new ideas for band names. "Cannibal Serving"?? Wish I could remember the whole story behind that!

After dark the Cat came out and the fun started once again. Square dancing became dangerous when American and Laurie and I slammed into one and all. Chanting "Lance is god" around the fire and almost getting bit by a dog was only half the fun. Lance and the trees had the giggles as did I, but no one seemed to get the joke! After bouncing back and forth between the two fires, I must say BOTH FIRES SUCKED!

Monday morning was truly sad because it was all over! It took like persuasion to get going though because a shower never meant so much to me!

-Stephanie

REVERAND JIM, ANDY, LIMOR, AND LISA

Biking long and hard-uphill and against the wind-not getting paid-and not complaining at the dispatcher?! Strange but true, it was the 11th Annual Hanx Russian River Ride and I'm in no position to gripe, but more people drove up than ever. Cat's brother printed up a t-shirt commemorating his 4th ride up on an Aero tank. This year he biked straight into the River, getting cheers from all sides. What messengerosity-unsullied by spandex or gears! Aye. Representing the dark side of the Force was Mike Russo. He was sighted on the perimeters of the ride up and even in Guerneville.

Lots of old faces appeared-folks who have moved on to bigger and better things (we hope), such as Joe Smith, Tom Scott (by far the best dressed man present), Victoria, Joe Corio, Marty (whom I think I congratulated seven hundred times on his recent art show), Wheeler, and many more! Amy Craven was absent, but was honored by a collective "Shut up, Big Amy!" shout-out. Several children were present, including Blue and Kajsalena, to enjoy the countryside and fresh air. Folks like Limor and Andy that didn't snag the good grassy camping sports-the Pacific Heights of the River-ended up pitching tents down on the rocks-the Hunter's Point of the River-yup, the high crime area.

As night arrived, requests for nude firedancing were never fulfilled, but many people braved the log that spanned the campfire, even barefoot! A rumor circulated that Midway was going to let messengers play music there, but this was not to be. One moment that broke through my formidable and welcome memory loss was sharing my repertoire of Hanukkah songs and Cherokee hymns with those hapless enough to be in earshot. Alas for them! All night folks counted coup on each other by stealing beer from other camps.

Down from the fire a Western biker was beat up supposedly by someone from SF. When the police talked to the guy, he was so dazed from his head wounds that they didn't consider him a reliable witness. The Jaks claim to know who the attacker is and are going to meet out justice. I sincerely hope so.

Mikey, having partaken of much Everclear and A, shared his meteorological observations with prophetic zeal. While everyone else was screaming for him to shit the hell up, Nosmo kept egging him on. Lance resorted to violence and the Mitchell Bros. mudwrestled into the wee hours. Morning found Mikey passed out under a blue tarp, which Bonz and others first tried to tent stake down, then rolled him up in a huge, blue human burrito.

Things were still bopping at daybreak. My small posse quested in vain for the fabled downtown of Guerneville that I was convinced existed. Fortified by Swedish pancakes, we returned to be treated to a prodigious collection of beer bellies and the most bizarre tanlines and sunburns in the universe. Allergies acted up and bug bites were accrued. Bonz and Jeni kindly shared their kayaks and Wheels challenged folks to swimming races. Volleyball, Frisbee, and unconsciousness proved worthy pastimes. I pursued sleep, but in vain, due to my fear of retribution from certain comrades cursed with thin skulls and sensitive hearing-aye. Nosmo, previously concerned about Tubular Times advertising the Ride, did a lousy job of shunning non-messengers. The morning fog cleared and we all enjoyed the sunshine in the afternoon, drinking to postpone that inevitable hangover.

Nightfall brought more fires and more firedancing. Dumptruck and Robert kicked down with Family Scott and Bugtussel songs of yore-appealing to the inner hick in all of us. Lyrics like "Don't pick me up/'Cos I'll fall back down/On the ground" were tres apropos considering the quality of dancing going on. Meanwhile, Bonz scared people with his infernal blinking light and earning the name "UCKE." Whatever log I was sitting on was destined for the fire, so I exercised my stubbornness by staying put (god forbid, if my stubbornness atrophied). Rivalry between fires arose, while non-tripping folks filed off into the night.

Actually, the ride back was not difficult at all and punctuated by breaks for delicious snacks. The allergy-stricken ones looked like they'd been smoking some good stuff all weekend. Navigation-wise the blind led the blind. Shawn Miller was saved by Hippy after another joyous flat, and even Nosmo made the ferry, bringing an end to another fine Hanx alcoholocaust.

-America

Pangloss sometimes said to Candide, "All events are interconnected in this best of all possible worlds, for if you hadn't been driven from a beautiful castle with hard kick in the behind because of your love for Lady Cunegonde, if you hadn't been seized by the Inquisition, if you hadn't wandered over America on foot, if you hadn't thrust your sword through the baron, if you hadn't lost all your sheep from the land of Eldorado, you wouldn't be here eating candied citrons and pistachio nuts." -Voltaire, Candide