Critical Mass London.
London Burning is blaring on a boom box to the right of the tandem bike my ass is glued to. I am surrounded by an undulating sea of beautiful bike clad spinsters. Men in tights, blonde 16 year old long boarders in short shorts, old Indian men on Barclays, big glasses, glowing pants, paisley trousers, hair flying in every direction behind us as we push through real life making way for our not so secret road party. We ride through everywhere, I think I have now officially seen everywhere in London.
The red head steering my bikes name is Johnny and all I can see is his red hair and my huge camera bag he has strapped to his back, he explains where we are and probably tells awesome stories about each amazing sight we zoom pass but all I hear is mjfidsfnfdsf and the constant hum of laughter, reggae and breeze slapping my ears.I’m introduced to the many wheels that pass us by and I try to not fall off the bike as I lean over to shake the many nice British people hands. A man offers me his flask, I eat some potato chips that were thrown at me, I get really good at being a “sack of potatoes” as I’m told to be so I don’t attempt to steer from the rear. We end our journey after 3 hours in front of Buckingham Palace listening to The Avalanches and holding bikes over our heads (not me) in victory. London is magical.
I wish I could discover every city I visit this way. On a tandem. In a moving field of the nicest people on earth.