My Last Critical Mass

I forgot to bring my camera. Pity, because the endpoint was the best I’ve been to. Montrose Harbour. Lots of space, and people were dancing to the music from the trailer-boomboxes on the grass, with the tinny flashing ferris wheel of Navy Pier and the pink-lighted Hancock and Sears towers on the horizon.

Critical Mass is a street party on two wheels, but without all that artificial stuff people do at parties to have fun: there the fun is had by simply pedalling. The most primitive of enjoyments: endorphins from physical movement.

I wasn’t sure if I should leave the after-party at Montrose Harbour. I liked the atmosphere and the scenery, but I wasn’t completely enjoying it because of the ache knowing it was my last time at such an occasion. If anything was bittersweet, that was it. When I’d agonised over it to the point where I was about to blub, I decided to leave. Pedalling against the wind was, as usual, sufficiently distracting that I didn’t blub on the way back. Too exhausted when I reached home to blub either.

The lake was stunning, etc.

I will not meet such a wonderfully crazy group of people in Singapore. I will miss them.

I will try to start one, but I am not optimistic.


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