One of my favorite things in the whole universe combines beautifully with one of my other favorite things. Namely, I love riding my bike to the pub for a couple beers with my friends.
Before I get the inevitable, "It's dangerous!"-es and "Enjoy your funeral"-s, I'll go ahead and say, I have enough experience on both a personal and professional level to understand the inherent risks of my actions. That being said, the same people that call me crazy for cycling to the pub will gladly drive to the same place for the same drinks, then drive home. Because let's face it, the way things around here are set up, drinking and driving is almost a necessity. We are left responsible for ourselves, including how we transport ourselves from A to B.
Because here's the thing - how are you gonna get home? Cab? Sure, if you wanna be out $40 additional dollars, plus whatever the potential consequences are of leaving your car overnight (towing, fees....the list goes on). Public transportation? Hah. This is America. Public transportation doesn't work like that. Call a friend? At 3 in the morning? I'm sure they'll be glad to hear about your night.
So for me that leaves cycling. Today a colleague and I met up at our local for a couple post-work pints, me "con bicicleta" as usual. I chained up to something that was either an artful bike rack, or a sign that worked amazingly well as a rack, and went in for my pints. After a solid discussion of European imperial history, the Texas Rangers, and our upcoming schedules, my friend and I parted ways to mosey onwards to our respective abodes.
Whether its Earth's best idea or not, I sort of love cycling with a bit of a buzz on. You sit up, take it easy on the speed, and just sort of leisurely pedal in a straight line until it's either time to turn, or you're home. Alcohol adds the best "Before you know it!" syndrome - I've ridden 8 miles in what felt like the equivalent time of 3 after a well-fought battle with $2.75 pint night. It's relaxation in a way rarely afforded to citizens of a modern society. Freedom to feel the wind on your face and enough of a buzz to really FEEL THE WIND ON YOUR FACE, MAN. No cell phones. No computers. Just a good old fashioned good-ass time.