The 1st Annual Trip to Greensboro for No Reason

Wake up Friday morning... whenever.  I don't have to go to work and everyone else has to.  This feels good.  I think I can do this forever... for about five minutes.  I randomly pack some things and when it feels like I have enough things, I quit.  Wait until 10:15AM to leave the house.

Construction on the way to Bill Nye's house.  Too many left hand turns.  A stop to pick up The (no longer) Oldest Dog in the World's ashes because they're on the way.  Maggie's going on one more road trip.  Pick up Bill Nye... in the drizzle.  Hit the highway.  The rain starts.  How much rain?  We see a driver who has prepared his SUV to go amphibious.

The rain stays over us, and according to weather-type apps, it follows us fervently.  We get to Revolution Cycles on time, which is whenever we get there.  Watts is out... making a "deposit."  I don't know what that means.  He comes back without succeeding in making a "deposit," and I start doing what I do in bikes shops.  Touching things.

I don't know what that means.

I know what that means.

I used to own this:

And these.  They were on my Yokota road bike back in 1991.  I used to rest my hungover head on them when the YSU Penguin Flyers cycling team would wait at stop signs for even slower team members.

I needed to make a purchase of knee warmers for work related activities.  I pulled out my binder-clipped wad and...

I've had that clip since '98 or '99.  The same one.  It lasted this long.  Why did it break at Watts' shop?  Because Watts. 

With the rain still coming down, Watts suggests we go a Mexican restaurant and wait the rain out while we eat tacos made from something other than animal tongues.  After clearing Watts' rock collection from the passenger seat of his Ford Windstar minivan (he swears it was just left in the Revolution Cycles parking lot with the keys in it)...

I hop in and start digging around under the seat.

It's missing tape #3, so I do not ask to borrow it.

We make as many left turns as possible on the way, and Watts stops to make his deposit.  It's at an actual bank, so I guess it's legit.  He winks at all the tellers and walks out of the bank with a little more wiggle in his step then one normally gets to see.  We get to the restaurant, order some things after a few failed attempts to make a selection, and eat as the rain slows to a miserable dribble.

RIDE BIKES (maybe), DRINK BEER (later), EAT MEXICAN (now).

Back to Watts' house to get ready.  His dog Mango finally likes me enough to sit on my chest while I wait for Bill Nye to gel his hair.

Everyone ready, we hop in yet another vehicle and head nine miles sort of north of where we were before.  Seventeen left turns later, we're in the parking lot at County Park at @3:45.

Another car pulls in, a guy gets out, puts on his knee pads, and hops on his full suspension Scott with no helmet.  Must be dirt jumps out there... or not.

Trail, trail, trail, berms and surprisingly a lot of traction despite the leaves and moisture.  And then a greeenway to link up to another trail system.

"I don't really know where I'm going.  Did you bring lights?" ~ Watts

Greenway moments.

We end up at Owl's Roost.  I've been here before, but maybe ten years ago.  We continue riding further from where we started, neighborhoods, greenways, bike paths, and parking lots away.  It's getting dark, but I assume Watts knows what we're doing.  At some point, I realize my assumptions are off.  We're going to die out here.

Watts doesn't seem anxious.  I try to feed off that positivity and stay on his wheel.  It's getting dark, almost stupid dark.  I look back occasionally to see if Bill Nye has been eaten by wolves yet.

And then it is officially stupid dark.  We get out just before pitch fucking black settles in and ride blindly down the greenway back towards the Adventure Wagon.  A sweet bike path with occasional poles right in the middle to keep vehicles from driving down it and to take out idiot mountain bikers with no headlights.

Watts makes a call and finds out that people are waiting at the shop for us.  Apparently they decided to show up to the "party" that isn't really much of a thing at all, and they brought their expectations that we would actually show up.

We pick up the pace, weave our way around the death poles, and survive the day...

and then forget that we are in a hurry.

 Then remember that we're in a hurry, load up...

Back to Watts' house where Bill Nye and Watts bathe and I decide bathing is not something I want to do.  Due to some lack of foresight and organization, Bill Nye's tarck bike is already at the shop.  He ends up with Dorothy's bike and helmet and makes it look good.

Finally where we are supposed to be.

Shop party for no real reason at all.  People are there.  I get to hear about the history of Volkswagen.

A conversation of beer, vaporizers, and strip clubs and wives that work in them... with a man who may have a brain tattooed on his neck.

Every once in a while, check in with Bill Nye to make sure he's okay, as he's better with inanimate objects like beakers and pocket protectors than people.

The shop closes.  We remain.  It's good to know people.  We stay until our last beers are down and then head to downtown Greensboro (I guess).  We end up at a strange brewery, made stranger by the presence of Tyler "Toolbag" Benedict of Bike Rumor (in)fame.

"Strange" in that adults are playing board games at various tables.  No tables open for us, we steal chairs and make a place to be in the middle of nothing.  We play our own game of Drink Beer and everybody wins.

And that's when the haze settled in.  Brewery to a restaurant for an after-midnight hamburger that ended up in front of me and things I can't explain.

And then the long ride back home to more Mango moments and bed.

At least that's what probably happened based on the fact that I woke up in a bed on Saturday and was still Mango's best friend.

Good times and even better use of paid time off. The 1st Annual Trip to Greensboro for No Reason is a success in that we made it there, despite a thousand left turns against traffic, and back in one piece.