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The Passage of a Few People Through a Rather Brief Moment in Time #113: Needle and Thread
08.31.11
One or more persons during a certain period drop their usual motives for movement and action, their relations, their work and leisure activities, and let themselves be drawn by the attractions of the terrain and the encounters they find there.
It's a bike ride.
Started by user nathansnider and user theroyalacademy.
It meets every Wednesday at 8:30pm at California Donuts #21.
We ride at 9pm.
We'll endeavor to return before the last red line trains (around midnight).
See how we move.
On the third year of this bike ride, you might expect:
- more inconvenient passageways
- more full moon picnics
- perhaps more "cover" versions of other people's rides, performed with amateurish enthusiasm
- certainly more amateurish enthusiasm
- disorientation
- reorientation
- pool halls
- bowling alleys
- dance parties
- karaoke
- imaginary histories
- scavenging for fun and sustenance
- more geocaching
- more oblique strategies
- more Oulipian constraints
- traffic median tea parties
Furthermore:
- A medium pace (maybe not for beginners; certainly not a hustle)
- We're not in a rush; we don't need to run every light.
- 30-ish miles; a few hills.
- Victory donuts!
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This week:
Needle and Thread
You were never sure just how it came to this. The transition of your weekly bike ride into a weekly craft night happened so gradually that it was almost unnoticeable, but when you look back now, you realize that the signs were always there - that fascination with odd juxtapositions and handsome aggregations; that tendency to treat the streets themselves as if they were some kind of fabric that could be patched together into new forms.
When you all finally picked up your craft baskets and set the bikes aside for good, it was comforting, almost therapeutic, to have your unhealthy fascination with bike rides sublimated in this more domestic form. You are happier now, yes, more well-adjusted.
But the ride never went away. You can see it in everyone's eyes. It's there. You still mimic eachother's hand gestures and let everyone know if you are going to make any sudden movements. And in the thread you still hear the crackling of high-tension wires; in each stitch, the thrill of another turn; in each button, another roundabout.
"Car back" someone shouts as the tray of hot cocoa arrives. You stifle a giggle and return to your embroidery.
Talk, talk, talk...
(and join the mailing list!)
The hacienda must be built.
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