The bike art show was great. We rode our bikes down there, figuring that it would be kind of lame to drive to a bike-friendly event. The wind was so strong that getting there was kind of a bitch; I decided about halfway there that it would have been much smarter to throw the bikes in the truck and park north of the party so we could ride in for appearance's sake.
The great thing about the wind was I could smell the party a full block before we got there. It smelled like bodies, beer, pot, and what I thought was patchouli but what Jennifer later identified as amber oil. It's a very particular smell that means you're either about to have a really good time or you're about to eat tempeh. In this case, fortunately, it was the former: We drank beer. We talked to people. We looked at art. We watched people tool around on bikes and bike trailers. Eric sold his painting very early and was pleased.
Sold!
Finally, it was time to go. Jennifer's ride had already left and she was leaving with us, but--shit!--we didn't have a car. However would she get home? Um. Hmm. Fuckity. Gosh.
Well, duh, there were only about fifty yellow bikes right there for the taking.
The deal is that they fix up old and donated bikes, paint them yellow, and set them loose around town. If you come across one, you can ride it, but you have to leave it for someone else once you get to your destination. The only wrinkle is that you're not supposed to lock them up, so if you run into the store or something and someone else takes it, you're out of luck. So we fudged a little, locking Jennifer's loaner bike to ours when we stopped to eat on the way home. Our intentions were good, though, and we followed the spirit if not the letter of the law. Once we got back to my neighborhood, we took it up to the Monarch Mart with us and propped it conspicuously in front of a coffee shop for the next bikeless person to find. Thanks, Yellow Bike Project!