Ok, as I hustle and bustle around my super rad daily life recently, I find myself on my 9th or 10th run through of the Broken Social Scene’s self titled album in the last 2 days. I know what you’re thinking, is this possible? Can a human endure such intensity? The answer is undecided, leaning toward yes, but I’m sure there is some answer in Kevin Drew and company and I’m bound to find it soon.

But alas, I had to put to rest the BSS for a little. This was due to a car ride with a friend that would lead to a night of drunken bike riding with around a thousand people (May 12th 2006). This outing was going to be Torquil and a few fellow idiots on a mission to have raw choads. The thing about Silverlake and the area akin, is it’s turning the 60’s with a splash of the 80’s disco rave…the porn stash, tight alllmost bell bottom pants (sometimes with full commitment), with a silken/and or light cotton kooky shirt and sports coat of sorts and not showering for days is a common find in the lake. Psh, I mean if any music doesn’t sound like its from the 60’s then who needs it? Henceforth, the activities tend to lean toward things like walk-a-thons, or wheel barrel races, or bike rides at 10pm. Maybe it’s just one more reason to wear a headband, or maybe what I just said doesnt relate and has nothing to do with anything, you decide.

So we arrive JUST as the first wave of bikers pile into the intersection and go underway with hooting and hollering. Without much thought or regard to cars or small game, I enter this throng to an adventure of unknown. Quickly into the ride, I realize we left Torquil behind. There was a man down and he was back where we started and there was nothing to be done. I only assumed there was a bike failure or just a simple decision to not be an idiot like us and do this thing completely out of shape and unprepared. Soon however, we find ourselves in China Town. This was a nice ride and in China Town a girl with boots and a high skirt, walking with a guy who was hoping for dear life for a miracle, called out to me and said she loved me. I thanked her and told her I loved her too and I continued on my merry way. Had I stopped we all know I could have ended up grabbing a boob, but who needs to gloat? It was shortly after that I realized how smart my comrade Torquil was back at camp. L.A. isn’t flat and I didn’t take this into account…to make a long story short, the first, might I stress the word UP “hill of death” claimed many lives andand I rather not talk about it. The only way I made it up this thing was people came out of their apartments and cheered and waved, thank god for the Asians.

The ride continued ALLLLLL over downtown L.A. We went through places that I wouldn’t drive my car through. The rows of bums giving out semolina high fives was a treat for the daring I must say though. After a bit of time, who knows when, we stopped to party with a mariachi band. This was a nice needed break and a time to see drunk hippies jump up and down. There WAS also an ice-cream truck who was giving out free ice-cream. Well, if you’re me and have an obsessed need to stay with the pack (and maybe win for no reason at all), then you leave the truck just as you get to it cause the pack was shoving off again. Next time popsicles, next time.

It was shortly after that when I was riding next to a friend who said, “See, you need to listen to me, I’m never wrong about anything, this is great.” Little did he see the looming 7th St. bridge a head. He only said that on the DOWN slop. Rightfully so, he then said 2 minutes later, “Forget everything I said, it meant nothing, I am a bad person.” Well, at least something like that. That was the last I saw of the friend that bike ride. He had to get off and walk like something with a vagina might (the girls who passed me dont count cause they are professionals with better bikes and probably are actually a guy in disguise). It was the SECOND time around, when we did an unnecessary circle back around a few blocks, to go up the 7th St. bridge again did I really think I wasn’t going to make it. I had no water, no supplies, I was alone, and a bike possibly made in 1982. There are times though when you just push on through anything that tries to stop you. As I was getting dizzy and blacking out, I realized something, that in order to succeed in life, you have to never trust friends again.

However the difficulty, regardless of the rugged terrain, semolina ridden bums, hookers, and a few witnessed drunken bike falls, we all made it. We all could say that we rode all the way around Downtown and Echo Park and Silverlake and China Town for no reason. And though my choad hurt and was quite soar the next day and all that night, it was worth it. It was something to do on a Friday night, and something to enjoy if you feel like putting yourself to the test for a few hours with a thousand drunk hooligans from the 60’s. Be sure and bring water, a bike repair kit and your wild and crazy personality and Ill see you out there next time. (Second Friday of each month).

Some background on the event and a monthly flyer: http://sports.groups.yahoo.com/group/Ridazz/

Some dude’s video of the May 12th ride: http://la.indymedia.org/uploads/2006/05/midnight_ridazz.mov

-Dan Tana