Thursday, June 28, 2007

when twilight dims the sky above

For the longest time, one of my favourite things about summer has been biking around at night. Forget taxis, screw the stinky old car, tell the bus to piss off and give the horse you rode in on the evening off. Get out the old bickety, check 'er tires, straddle 'er, and get those thighs pumping 'er pedals to get those wheels spinning. She LIKES IT.

Last night I got called out by a friend of mine to see some live jazz in a park - free tix. (It's always last minute for him because he works in radio and just gets tickets handed to him randomly with little or no notice. It's grand and he helps keeps me cultured.)

So, boy oh boy, yes! After lying in bed like Jabba the Hutt for two weeks, croaking and blinking and coughing up slugs of phlegm, I was more than ready. Threw on a tank top and off I went (on my bike, natch). And it was a great band - a 12-piece! A horn section in black suits! An elegant string ensemble! A rowdy fella tickling the ivories! A hot chick in a short black dress singing! And to leave us all humming to ourselves like romantic old men as we wandered home for the night, their encore was a gorgeous rendition of Brazil. (The movie by the same name - which uses this song abundantly in the soundtrack - is an all-time fave, so this choice made me quietly gleeful.)

Anyway, reasons you should try biking at night in the summer - if you haven't tried it:

A. You go faster in the dark.

B. You get to feel twelve again (in that good way, like before pimples and before ever stressing out about the concept of making out with someone and before you started getting those life-complicating boobs and hips*).

C. It makes you one gorgeous hardcore beast.


*what's the boy equivalent?


At June 29, 2007 10:42 a.m., Blogger sgazzetti said...

*unbidden, ill-timed tumescences.

Well, you did ask.

At June 29, 2007 11:01 a.m., Blogger banjeroo said...

Oh, you bet I asked! Thanks, Isoglossia, for the candour.

This brings to mind an especially cruel male gym teacher at my junior high who somehow, due to some rip in the space/time continuum, was appointed to teach us sex ed.

I remember him snidely and loudly announcing in one class, "I know how it is boys, at this age, you can bump up against a table or brush against a door frame and get a tent for god's sakes." (And all the boys turning beet red, and all of the girls sitting in awe and confusion, like "WHAT did he just say?")

At July 02, 2007 1:52 p.m., Blogger Hooker said...

Deep voice and ball hair.


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