Jamming

Given my seeming predilection for all things British, this weekend I was invited to something called a ‘Brit Jam’. I almost didn’t go after learning that this wasn’t an occasion where one would get a chance to physically stuff a few Brits into some small dark hole, or to can them up and spread them on toast later. However, being reassured that there wouldn’t actually be any real, live Englanders at this event, but only UK inanimate objects, I decided to join the gang for the ride. After all, one can’t go sailing all the time. Mainly because one stupidly sold one’s boat and can’t always find a friend to sail with. Anyway, six bikes containing nine people made the trek to the next state, to wander around a green grassy field and stare at an assortment of motorcycles. It was a lovely day, and I learned something by riding the back of a motorcycle that is part of a group. It might be a good idea if everyone riding together had an idea of where we’re headed, because there are an awful lot of cars out there who just have to cram themselves into the middle of the bikes traveling together. I mean, really, if you are that desperate to be part of a biker gang, go get yourself a motorcycle and come apply for membership in our elite clan. Since most of these vehicles were SUVs, of course, that made it hard for the rider(s) now stuck behind it to see where everyone has turned. Still, we managed to arrive at our destination and return all together, except for one lone ranger who decided to leave early and find his own way home.

Due to a technical error that led to the loss of my funny, clever, photos, I had to steal photos from last year’s meet. My apologies for the boringness of these, but I’m tired, biked out, and have to go to work at 5 tomorrow morning.