The Jaws of Victory

The rescheduled alley cat race for Bike 4 the Brain didn't have cold weather as an excuse for people to not attend. The heat was stifling in the afternoon and only as we got on to the evening start did it become bearable.



Another big difference was the nearby event on the first one was Rockfest, one of the biggest and most commercial outdoor events Kansas City has going; this time the rival for folks' attention was Queerfest. Not only was the latter tiny, it was also decidedly anti-commercial. So much so I can't even find a proper website to link to for it, only listings in various calendar-of-events sites.



I'm sure they got more people as the evening wore on, but when I passed through Washington Park on the way to Dietrich Park for the alleycat, it wasn't much more than a sprawling picnic with card table 'booths' and a small stage. The organizers wanted to get away from what they felt was the undue corporate influence that has taken Pride Fest from the Liberty Memorial (always a semi-ironic location given it's reputation, when I was a lad, for being the cruisiest gay pickup scene in town) to the Power & White District.

But if they start drawing larger crowds, I suspect that even the die hard anti-market types would have to admit that sometimes the company logo, and the check or in-kind aid that comes with it, has its points.



Anyway, Corinna had performed at the Queerfest earlier and set up her own little booth on a blanket for awhile, but she was long gone when I got there. Looking for her, inquiring after her, I was on about my ninth compliment on the helmet fluff before I realized something.

My pink helmet mohawk; my Aloha shirt, with all the stickers on my bike, the pink polka dots on my fenders, patriotic pinwheels on my handlebars (and American flags flying from my rack), a plastic light-up rose from Em's Beauty and the Beast performance sticking out of a pannier...

Nobody, and I mean nobody, in that park took me for a straight guy. I guess if I'd have thought about it in advance, I could have gone all the way and worn the dolphin shirt that inspired a guy at the Green Mill to offer, insistently, to 'show me' Chicago.



Anyway, after a hot ride up the hill to the alleycat race, a breeze materialized that made the prospect of riding far more pleasant than it had been. The turnout was still modest considering Corinna had rescheduled for a Saturday night instead of a morning and really bent over backwards to overcome all the excuses she heard from people who didn't show up in May.



While we were waiting, I noticed the 'keep out' sign on the playground around this mound with slides running through it. I went to see about violating the perimeter and was almost disappointed at how easy it was. The fence isn't even joined at one point and you can just open the section like a gate and walk in. A weak child could get in there without assistance.



Then he'd be king of the hill.

A modest turnout was still a turnout, and manifests were placed by our bikes and we were given a deadline to return with as many answers as we could.

Those who bothered to read the manifest before charging into the street, there were fifty free points for just having the organizer sign #27, and two hundred points available for giving testimonials about overcoming adversity and what gives you strength. So I had 250 points before I had wheels under me.



I had a kid to pick up and didn't plan to do the whole thing, so I rode south. Some of the questions, frustratingly, were ones I ought to know the answer to. How do I ride past something three times a week for six months and not even know what it's called?



Me and Dr. Ken raced to the Nelson, as one of the questions concerned the Thinker, and then over to the Art Institute where we learned what happens when a manifest is done too far in advance.

We were looking for an installation piece on the campus, and remember this manifest was written for a May 24 race, and we were stumped. Couldn't find anything that fit the description and we scoured that campus before I finally asked a student.

"Yeah, they took that down, maybe a month ago."

Then, on the way back, we tried to get what should have been an easy one, looking for a tag on a dumpster at a specific address. But the way Campbell and 28th Street and Charlotte and whatnot all kind of intertwine and shift, it wasn't obvious even which street we were officially on. We asked a man out for a walk, with a cane (you'd think that means he's near home, familiar with the area) and he gave us the worst directions every. He sent us down around the block and we came back up and found the tag on the dumpster about twenty feet from where we asked him.

If he'd actually known where we meant, he could have just said, 'Right behind you there.'



Between those two things we didn't hit three or four of the south locations on the manifest, and I felt like I'd really stunk it up. Imagine my shock when I won.




My first alleycat victory! Come to that, probably my first time ever winning anything called a race.

I asked Corinna what I won, and she said she didn't know since I'd already tried on the biggest jersey she had in the swag bag and it was too small. I guess I won bragging rights. I can beat my chest and say, 'I read the directions.'