It was bad. So bad that it was good - in fact miraculous - that last night's icy ride to Chelsy's didn't result in a reset of the mo7s "Days Since Last Crash" counter. We were probably helped by the fact that our lead crash candidate bailed at 5pm (ykwyaasdw*)! But we still managed six riders for the perilous pilgimage to Chelsy's (a couple of "fun" crashes, nothing counter-worthy).
The pace line to Chelsy's was uncharacteristically slow, with a prudent 8 foot spacing instead of the usual 8 inch silliness. It warmed our hearts as we entered to see the usual eclectic crowd through the smokey haze, and Roy (the bartender) did not miss a beat and was pouring our pitchers before we got to our customary spots at the far end of the bar. A few random tidbits:
- Our multi-variate-ice-and-sluts-sensitivity-analysis was inconclusive.
- Some unpleasantness occured in the men's room and it's proximity to the kitchen led a few of us to agree that Chelsy's is forever a drinking establishment and will never be a dining establishment, at least for us.
Interestingly enough, the pace line on the way out was much faster and much tighter than the trip in. I guess either we became better riders during our 2 hours of drinking at Chelsy's (not likely), the ice melted in the 15F temperatures (impossible), or the beer was "talking" (yes, this is it). And thanks to one of our Irish contingent for riding as "caboose" during our short stint on 282 with his light strapped on backwards as a warning (or target) for motorists. It seems the Irish get a little smarter with each beer, a trait developed from lots of practice I am sure.
Yet again we tempt fate and come out reasonably intact.
P.S. ykwyaasdw - you know who you are and so do we