Ride Night: Planes, Trains, and Automohills

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It’s literally all downhill from here – Swan and dubz gently descend the Rose City backroads to K school – We pick up Gato outside ‘one of his properties’ and Vic makes it four. It’s a commitment this one – You’re in it for the next hour and a half – we drop down to av-gas laden marshes and cozy underpasses (we should come back here and hang out one night) to the darkest most northern bike paths in Oregon – Flasks fly as stacked big birds swoop in squint straightening up at last minute – It’s all physics!! And It’s all the way to the 205 bridge– all the way back up that 459 ft tall rabbit infested Maywood fuckin’ park, vintage volkswagon loving slope. “That was the hill…………that was the hill that still is……..note to self ‘junk defense’. Montavilla Station never fails to impress – heaving crowds, Beautiful bar tenders, cask conditioned micro brews, Industrial plastic sink in the toilet, Jimmy ‘the table’, Saxon and Padre numero Cinqo – SA! – DON’T LOOK AT THAT GUY, DON’TALK TO THAT GUY, DON’T MENTION HIS T-SHIRT, DON’T LET HIM TAKEOVER THE CONVERSATION –Ahhhhhhhh forget it – too late as ‘jimmy Nae pals I play pool on my own’ waxes lyrical about Atari, Sinclair and some other crap he still has in his bedroom 50 yrs on.

Sure enuff – the shuff is as tuff as a dreadlocked muff – fathers are swapping puck for puck and play the plank like the banana board it is. Gato shouts, jumps, kicks and punches his way through the night. SA leaves – He comes back – He leaves – He comes back – we meet him on the way to Roscoes – flat tire – Silent assist home.

Gome by sore chin rest. – Dubz