Fear No Evel

Something about flaming ping-pong balls led me to comment, “Reminds me of last night, only that involved bicycles and gasoline. I'll blog about it if they ever get the video up onto YouTube.”

On the evening in question, I came home from work but had to slow up when I turned in to the lane. It was lined with small pickups and SUVs, with barely room for me to pass. More of them were strewn about my neighbor’s front yard. It was after dark and the only light came from his open garage, or from the countless little battery-powered Christmas lights that were strung on all the off-road bikes. People were milling about in their bicycling gear, using little flashlights to adjust this and mess with that.

I was in my usual good mood at the end of a workday and said, “What the fuck is all this?!” A guy in a blue windbreaker tried to direct me to an open space to park in. I ignored him and went on home.

I walked down later in a friendlier frame and found out my neighbor’s cycling club was doing its annual canned food drive. They dress up their bikes and toddler-trailers and everything in lights and little trees and whatnot and ride the couple miles down to Dovewood Ct and back. Dovewood Ct is one of those neighborhoods where everyone is required to go all out on their Christmas lights, and people come from miles around to wonder at the electric bills and drop their offerings in a couple recycling bins set up on the sidewalk. My neighbor’s club makes an unauthorized nighttime parade of the deal, stopping traffic and making people go “Ooh.” Looks like a lot of fun.

After that they come back to party awhile. Nabe had said come on by, so once everyone at my house was off to bed I did. He had a couple portable fire pits blazing on his driveway and music going and a keg flowing and finger food set out on the ping-pong table and the whole works. Of course I didn’t know a soul there so I got myself a beer and a fistful of chips and went to a fire pit and asked someone how the ride went. An hour of small talk, mooching and dodging the fire smoke then ensued.

They were a cheerful crew. Most about thirty, with a few old farts like me, and their kids. A pool table and a fusbol set were in full swing in the garage. The air outside was just about at freezing so the fires were popular. Then, as you might expect, someone got bored, and next thing some tires were stacked up by a fire and a board was laid on it and someone got on a bicycle and started jumping the flames. The ground was wet from the incessant drizzle and the hazard factor made it a very popular show, especially when a rider didn’t hit the landing well enough and wound up tumbling across the concrete. Out came the tiny digital video cameras everyone seems to have in their pocket these days and the jumps got higher and faster.

Finally the wood got stacked high and someone said, “What next, gasoline?” and the homeowner said, “Shhh!” Turned out he had a plan. His friend came pedaling furiously out of the dark and just as he hit the ramp, a spray of liquid came out of the host’s beer cup and the night air lit up like Godzilla on Guy Fawkes Night. The rider’s eyes screamed, “Oh shit!” as he passed through flames higher than his head; and then he came down and nailed the landing. The whooping and hollering after that undoubtedly woke the neighbors, if there were still any that needed waking, and crowds formed and broke for fifteen minutes after that, reliving the moment on little digital screens. My neighbor’s a cheerful drunk and kept showing people and saying, “That’s the best video ever!” It was great.

Here’s the video compilation of the last few jumps. I’m one of the stupid shadowy inebriates in the background. Good times, eh.