Chapter_15

Okay … no rest for the wicked … I come home, shower, eat, answer a few emails, paint myself white, done my wig and costume again, and head right back out. Katherine Dynes and I are joining Toronto’s Bike Rave. I only now understand the vision I witnessed from my window last year: lots and lots of cyclists riding bikes covered with lights, glow sticks, fabric, and fun fur, a thrilling, local extravaganza celebrating bike culture and urban cycling à la Burning Man. They’re gathering at Christie Pits this year. It’s so close to me that it makes it totally possible to consider a second outing today.

Crash.

I had left the art-bike temporarily parked on the sidewalk outside my house. The first thing I do is jump the curb far more abruptly than anticipated. Rattled but seemingly in one safe piece, the bike and its lights are still operational.

Burn.

I spoke too soon. Halfway up the block to Bloor Street, the LED lights flicker, only to shut off all together a few minutes later. We figure we can fart around with the battery, converter, extension cords, power bars, and wires to get the lighting rig going again when we get there. We are still aglow with hope, if not electricity.

Crash and Burn.

We fart around and around with the battery, converter, extension cords, power bars, and wires to no avail. Our normally brightly lit enterprise is relegated to darkness after sunset. FUCK! At the Bike Rave! Really? Yes, really. It’s so depressing. The event and enthusiasm of its participants inspire us, but we really, really want to be there not only in spirit but also in fine technical form. Maybe next year!

Check out this video of the Toronto Bike Rave 2015

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