250 – Paddle in the Morning, Pedalling at Night

Some days seem to pack in so much fun that at the end of them, you’re left wondering if it was really all one day. Today was like that. It started with a canoeing/kayaking trip for an offsite for work, which was followed by a barbecue, and wrapped up with a 28 mile pedal, half in the dark, to the Italian Festa in Beavercreek and back.

I freaking love summer.

There was a rope swing near the end of the route, of which we took full advantage.

But seriously, that dude can get some elevation off of a rope swing. He had to be 30 feet over the water on a few jumps.

Our trip to the Italian Festa was an adventure in ways we never could have anticipated. We decided at the last moment to go, not wanting to spend our Saturday night at home. Then we decided to take the bikes, since we could get there almost entirely on the bike path, and I had just picked up some lights (more on them later) that I wanted to test.

The ride there was a little comical, as Katie was getting hungry and tired, and so was pedaling slower and slower as the miles went on. It’s always difficult for me to estimate that distances will be manageable for her, since there is such a gap between our relative experience, but I gambled on the overall flatness of the route and perfect weather making the round trip doable. 10 miles into our outbound leg, I was starting to think I had made a pretty big mistake.

But when we finally made it to the Festa, the absurdity of the whole thing took our minds off the work of the ride. The place was bedlam. There had to be 25,000 people jammed into a couple acres of land, with booths and music and food and drink giving the throng a feel that could only be described as, well, Italian. They were selling full-sized, glass bottles of wine, and more than a few people were staggering around with a half-empty bottle in each hand. The fact that such an ebullient gathering is even possible in this litigious and safety-obsessed age was almost as surprising as the volume and density of the crowd.

The crowd, of course, made walking our bikes around the grounds nearly impossible, and we soon found ourselves on the fringes, staring with mouths agape. We settled on getting a pizza, since it was the fastest moving line, and sat on the ground munching our dinner and people watching. The whole thing was hilarious, as was our misguided decision to try and ride bikes to an event like this. But we couldn’t have known, I suppose.

The ride home was an entirely different experience. We clicked on our lights and threaded our way through the (now weaving-drunk) crowd of pedestrians leaving the Festa, doing our best not to hit anybody and laughing the whole way. When we got back to the bike path, Katie decided she just wanted to “get it over with,” and suddenly we were blasting along at a remarkable pace for a couple of mountain bikes, enjoying the cool night air and the slightly spooky atmosphere of the inky-dark bike path.

We made it home a full 15 minutes faster than we made it out, despite having to climb the big hill back into our neighborhood, and her light running out of battery just before that. We very nearly called for a ride home, but Katie had set her mind to the task, and there’s not much that’ll get in her way once she’s done that. Heaven help the competition if she ever decides to go racing…