This weekend was Festering Oktoberscoot. When I first heard of the rally–a scooter-based tour of Seattle breweries–I thought this would be a singularly bad idea. A half a glass of alcohol on a two-wheeled vehicle feels like two to three full glasses when driving a car. There is just so much more that you need to pay attention to.
But this isn’t a young and irresponsible scooter crowd (I’m probably the youngest person in the crowd other than Hottie Ms. Headlights). At every brewery, it was just about a taste. A dash of beer in a shot glass.
That’s not to say that the ride went perfectly smoothly. Kelly went down after the first brewery this morning. She was slowing down and pulling to the right to block a car that was edging into the pack (it boggles the mind, but some car drivers will utterly ignore motorcycles and just pull in like we aren’t there). But the move was sudden enough that Marty, right behind her, had to slam on the brakes. He didn’t have quite enough space, and he didn’t turn out of the way (maybe there was another bike directly to his left, don’t know). A perfect accident: no single person was at fault, but everyone contributed just a little bit.
Kelly had a little road rash on her legs (like someone else I know, Kelly chooses fashion over protection) and went into mild shock. I got a little worried when she laid back down on the sidewalk a second time after refusing to go to the hospital–I didn’t see the accident, but I was worried she banged her head. So I called our family ER doc, Trish. It only took a few minutes for everyone else to convince Kelly to stop by the emergency room, and by the time I reached Trish, Kelly was in a cab with Sugar Bear following behind on his scoot. (Kelly, a fellow Softie, claimed she wouldn’t have gone if it hadn’t been for our employer’s fantastic health benefits).
Kelly joined us about six hours later at the barbecue at the end of the ride, bruised but in good spirits.
All said and done, I do like this scooter crowd. They’re all laid-back and easy-going and low drama–just like the handful of people in the San Francisco crowd that I enjoyed spending time with.