San Francisco Bike Messengers should be careful. We might get sued by the people that put on Burning Man if the bizarre tradition of setting ourselves on fire continues. Hey, at least the price of admission for our Burning Man is only the ride up there.
I rode up in a van with something like 200 bags and tents, 2 coolers full of food, 2 friends and my dog Homer. Upon arrival the boys took off to get the beer and I started the task of setting up everyone's tent. I didn't even get through the first one when Cathy decided I looked so pathetic that she had to help me. Thanx Cathy!
After setting up each tent Homer would add his seal of approval by peeing on them. That strange smell in the middle of the night wasn't your gas passin' tent mate.
Thanks to everyone that offered to marry
me for putting up the tents and cooking. I got off easy.
It seems that every year I go to Russian River I "get to"
see people that I never ever, ever, ever want to see naked. Ever.
This year was no exception. We lost sight of the three streakers
where I was sitting as they ran into the night and through the
maze of tents, bar-b-que pits and beer cans. I saw two emerge
and one fall face first, or is that genitals first, into the huge
fire to our right. Next thing I know a glowing Poopsy, perhaps
being chased by Bok Choy, runs head first, no pun intended, into
the only tree in our field of bad dreams.
The fireworks display (does the real Burning Man offer free fireworks? I think not!!) that followed was beautiful. A burst of orange and red exploded from Poopsy's elbows and knees as he collided with that tree. What a grand ole sight!
The second funniest thing I saw on our trip was the fabulous horseshoe match that took place on Sunday. Apparently horseshoes is a little too boring for our boys at Ultra-X, so they decided to spice it up a bit. There was the backwards over the head toss, the under the leg toss, the between the legs toss, the shot put and the dreaded discus toss. Strike one-Pat Gaffney. It went sailing right over our heads and we weren't standing anywhere near the target. Strike two-Bill Boyce. "Early release! Early release!" was Bill's advice to...Strike three!-"Uncle" Johnny Zerolis. There was no early release. That horseshoe headed straight for us! We all scattered except one. Che. He was sitting in a chair watching Kyle from QuickSilver throw rocks at a log across the river. I guess the British don't yell "Look out!" when a horseshoe is hurtling at a group of people at mach speed, because Che didn't move a muscle. The shoe hit him square on the top of his right knee. It made an incredible clanging sound as the vibration resonated through his knee to the metal chair. Ouch!
Other highlights, or low lights, included:
"Lips, however rosy, must be fed."
Within blocks of Harvey's there were already two bike accidents, heralding the start of another fine Russian River Ride. We took our time, leaving at 10:30 and not running into any groups of messengers until the Cheese Factory. I am never taking the highway route up again-cheese factory rules! Of course, the most scenic route of all was the one taken by Team Lost, led by Nosmo, meandering through San Anselmo, along train tracks, through fields, through thick shrubbery, then back to the highway.
The Reverend Slim Buick made it up on his bike equipped with a frog call! That could prove very practical, come frog gigging season... Limor and Andy biked up, getting a break from talking to trees in Humboldt (who are better conversationalists than the hippies). Washoe House is always my happiest sight on the way up-showing yer almost there-altho' by the time our group left, it was starting to get a little dark out... Team Last made it in around 10pm. Sadly, I missed the Aerohead with a Nosmonic complex. Apparently a local guy came down to the encampment to sell firewood and the Aerohead informed that he was Nosmo and he decided who could hang out and who couldn't. (Actually I ran into the firewood guy late @ night & he WAS a buzzkill.)
Sauntered over to check out the rowdy fire at the far end and was informed this was the One Post Guard Fire. I waited around for someone to introduce me to this amazing security guard from One Post who made it up, but this was not to be. Da!-I eventually figured it out. So I trundled off to the "Old Hanx Fire" where Life was bored and demanded that people, "Do Stuff!" He obviously didn't just ride 85 miles on a bike. Instead he picked fights with a succession of five different people. When Mike Holt and Bok Choy were psychoanalyzing Life and his thinly veiled homoeroticism and need for affection, I figured it was past time to evacuate and head to Slumberland.
By the time I woke up in the morning
Life had successfully sublimated his angst into a charming game
called "B-Spice." Anyone who said a word beginning with
"B" had to say "Spice" immediately or get
hit by everyone else playing. It took me about a half hour of
getting pounded on before I figured I was way too groggy to pay
attention to my diction, and felt breakfasting <spice> with
Bett <spice> might be a better <spice> way to spend
my time.
Cannibal found his thongs and everyone was relieved to find out
he was talking about shoes. "Where's my God?!" Another
annual treat of seeing all our scrawny torsos bared to the sun.
Hot pink was definitely the preferred hair color this season.
The River changes dramatically every year, but this year was exciting-a treacherous current and an island! No one was brave enough to camp out on the island, but for five milliseconds Dumptruck and Christine reenacted Lord of the Flies. "Kill the pig/Cut his throat/Bash him in!" Mishka and Meagan coached Blue on the fine art of throwing rocks, while a violent game of horseshoes ensued further inland. Horseshoe discus. Thanks to Rebecca and Jonah for sharing their toys! Halley had the best toys of all, but she shared them with Kasjalena. It was cool to see some people that were supposed to act like kids.
I didn't know two of the bands at all, but Asshole lived up to their name and Anonymous Beef rocked out! Joyfully, the vicious rumors of the past Friday regarding AB's breakup were untrue. Whew! I ran into Kyle S after he had downed a bottle of Jim Beam and he seemed as sober as a Quaker! Luckily he had a couple more bottles to remedy that situation. Mongo climbed the stump in the middle of the camp to brandish the "13" flag/t-shirt. When tea time rolled around, Jen Zen, John B, and Bok Choy busted out with the excellent salmon steaks and I knew I was in the right camp-thanks, you guys!!!
While folks started stockpiling colossal quantities of wood, Damon put together his Charlie-Brown-Christmas-tree fire. Fire envy got the best of us sitting around that little fire and soon we had degenerated into Wood Pirates! A much friendlier way to count coup on our fellows than by stealing their beer, and stealing wood from people is one way to socialize. Lectures about Prometheus abounded-he stole fire, brought it to humanity, and for that, ended up chained to a rock, with a vulture ripping out his liver anew every day. No fears-we have much better ways to destroy our livers. My personal coup was stealing fire from the one that wasn't even a real fire. Gina K, Lance S, Robert C, and others were gambling by candlelight not a fire, but luckily McRob had hella leftover drumsticks which burned quite nicely indeed.
I hit the Old Post Guard fire at just the right time to see Jay, wearing the aluminum foil Hat of Evil, stripping along with Matt Dillon and Mike Holt, who has developed a knack for being in close proximity to trouble... hmm. The three bolted off, nude, at full speed across the camp, where Matt met his untimely demise in the Pirate Fire. He fell in and started to run when Bok Choy thought he was stealing fire and tackled him. In a sense he was, since a burning coal was lodged to his skin. Luckily being tackled put the fire out and Matt was well enough to jump up and smash into a tree. He made it back to his camp and his posse took him to the hospital where he got a phat prescription for vicodins and codeine, so all's well that end's well. Jay's view on the matter: Don't try to act like Jay. Can't argue with that.
Allegedly, young Tard of Western infamy was selling less-than-quality speed to folks-or better-than-average talcum powder, depending on how you look at it! Waves of bitterness permeated his unhappy purchasers so he was cast into the River. Hardly cruel and unusual punishment-THAT was reserved for Life that night. Son of a bitch <spice>! You bastard <spice>, back <spice> down!!
So as the evening progressed, we regressed.
Drunkenness. Noise. Stuff!!! Lectures from Tony C. One shooting
star. Settling old bets regarding the Dukes of Hazzard theme song
(yes, written and performed by Waylon Jennings). More drunkenness.
Sleep, and damn!-dawn came but quick.
Joe Corio modeled his festive jumpsuit for the ride back. For
some reason, Seth and his girlfriend weren't ready to ride back
with Nosmo-hmm, go figure. The ride back is the best part, with
the winds pushing you homeward-making you feel like somehow you've
become an Olympic cyclist over the course of the weekend. Marin
Brewing Company, the Ferry where sea shanties abounded, then home,
food, sleep, shower in some kind of order, so we could
rest up and pillage some more!! Arrh! America
And just what did spawn all of the cackling?
I could go out like a punk and blame it on the acid that Kali gave me, but I don't think it started there. Maybe all of the malt liquor that I drank while I was getting ready to go at six in the morning could have had something to do with it. Then combine that with the paranoia that I got from seeing Junior filming me so much. I wound up being able to stick up with a crew of new and old people. The mix-up was good; it was a combination of river veterans (Lisa and Joel), some newcomers (John Wayne and Rebecca) and those knuckleheads on the fixies. There was also this dude who had this boom box that would play WEEN and a bunch of other stuff at the most appropriate times. I gotta say that the highway route is the coolest place to zen out. The long path that took me to Petaluma was the perfect way to clear my head and set myself up for the state of mind where the concept of time was abandoned.
And that is exactly what happened. We finally got to Petaluma, and even though that is considered the halfway point, there are only three other things that I remember: having a shot with Petra and Lisa at the Washoe House, buying fruit at the fruit stand, and then showing up at the river. Because I had the insight of going in on a food pool with Wendy Fallon, I had the luxury of being able to show up, eat food, drink beer and go to sleep. I got back up at what seems to me to be about five in the morning.
The only thing that was happening was Ken saying "What's your Point?" a whole bunch and Lance Mitchell beating the shit out of Life. The next thing that I remember is waking up and eating a lot of meat. And drinking. And socking Life. I also remember thinking that so many people like him because he is a sucker for punishment and that he has learned to seduce people with pity. Maybe he even decided to leave town because the trick was not working anymore. In both his presence and absence, whether I am sober or on borrowed time, that dude is a piece of work. I hope he does not get killed.
But to return to the subject of borrowed time. Of the three rides that I have been on, this was the one where I felt like I lost some brain points. I promised myself that I would do some sort of damage to myself after being straight last year (once again I must say that beer and pot do not count) and I think I did it this time. For just a little while, I broke my brain. Last year, I was merely a spectator to other people's annoying behavior. This time, I was in control of the mood of an entire crowd. There are many things that I barely remember seeing (like the second annual Burning Man Contest and all of the car wash fun) Because I invested so much time into entertaining myself. And the only tools that I remotely remember using were my trusty flashlight and an evil laugh. A cold, evil, mean laugh. A way of communicating that my brain substituted for normal speech, because speech was not mean. The laugh now that was mean.
So mean, in fact, that I think that I
automatically rode the karma train for it on the way home. I had
endless flats, about four or five, and I kept on having them until
I fell way back and I had to ride by myself. "No big deal,"
I thought to myself, "I'll just take the highway back to
Larkspur."
Needless to say, I had some trouble finding Larkspur. I found
San Quentin, though. I found it at least three times, and then
I eventually made it there, and shared a big assed bottle of rum
and a patch kit with one of the fixed gear guys (the names of
all of the people that I met have jumbled together with all of
the other occurrences that happened during the trip). I think
this guy rode a 52/19 and sewups all of the way. Once the ferry
got to the City, I remember staying coherent enough to ring the
bell and ride home.
So another Russian river ride experience was under my wings, and even though it was the same, in some ways, there were still the ups and downs that made it a truly unique experience. The coolest thing was seeing so many new riders having such a good time. I also learned two pieces of valuable info. Firstly, Larkspur is a bitch to find, especially when you are by yourself. Secondly, I learned that there is a proper way to laugh at situations with high DA potential. And since there a lot of people that are driving up now, I think next year I am going to rely less on a sag wagon. Like get some panniers and shit. That way I won't have to worry about getting my stuff later.
Spiller
"I fell in to a burning ring of fire/Went down down down/And the flames went higher." Johnny Cash
Love is Wrong
Love either takes you into its bosom
Or it bites you like a dog
Turns you to religion
Or makes you swell up like a frog
Some say love, "It is like a fire
Burning, yet never the same"
Not noticing the smell of the smoke
Or what is feeding the flame
Love is wrong, love is wrong, love is wrong_
Love is wrong, love is wrong, love is wrong_
What is the measure of the destruction
Wrought in the name of love
In the end can it really matter
Just where this wreckage came from
Whose to say that love is right
If it causes so much pain
How much pleasure would it have to cause
To make it right again
Love is wrong, love is wrong, love is wrong_
Love is wrong, love is wrong, love is wrong_
There is no other thought or emotion
That has made me a bigger fool
Turned me around, turned me upside down
And used me as its tool
If there's one thing that I could say
And let me make it plain
The only thing that true love's done for me
Is driven me insane
Love is wrong, love is wrong, love is wrong_
Love is wrong, love is wrong, love is wrong...