As I pedaled across the bridge from New Brunswick to Highland Park, New Jersey, a police cruiser pulled up alongside me.
I was about 20 and since then, much fluid has passed under that bridge. It was one thing to ride home drunk from a party because of youthful folly combined with a lack of planning. So I have to wonder about the wisdom of a
Apparently, some folks in Scottsdale, Arizona think it would be fun. They’ve planned a bicycle pub crawl for Leap Year Day (29 February).
That should have been easy to do because no one else was crossing the bridge at that hour. But I noticed that the cruiser approached me in an almost hesitant way.
The officer in the non-driver rasped, “Stop.” I complied. He opened his door.
“You know, you were weaving all over the road. I know there’s no traffic, but still...
I looked at him sheepishly. “Where are you going’?”
He realized I was only a couple blocks from the apartment I shared. “OK. Be careful. And next time, get a ride home.”
I don’t know whether he smelled the hooch or simply knew, from looking at me, that I could just barely see—let alone ride—straight. (Had I understood then what I understand now, I would have realized that I can’t do anything straight!;-)
I was about 20 and since then, much fluid has passed under that bridge. It was one thing to ride home drunk from a party because of youthful folly combined with a lack of planning. So I have to wonder about the wisdom of a
bike ride with stops for alcohol consumption.
Apparently, some folks in Scottsdale, Arizona think it would be fun. They’ve planned a bicycle pub crawl for Leap Year Day (29 February).
I wonder: How does one crawl on a bicycle? And how far do they ride between each pub?
