The week after May Day is a blur. The days were filled with wacky bikes, Weinery food, and then bipolar evenings as I shuffled back and forth between the Scallywag and Black Label worlds. The Scallywags would have cookouts and singalongs. The Black Label would drink and trash stuff. I met very few people who weren't affiliated, and they seemed like me- guests in this crazy world where everyone was either a fully crusty drug-addled street punk or a Christian. As I got to know folks I learned that it might be best to avoid an affiliation because you can sidestep all the bike club politics that way.

One day I met up with Per to talk about this pedicab thing we're working on. After a few beer someone told us to go over to the art school because the club was over there. We arrived to find them all tripping, flinging paint everywhere, painting the television screen, lighting fireworks off in their pockets, and generally causing a ruckus. After a mayonaise fight, Jake suddenly yelled, "I know! Let's tattoo Johnny!" and everybody went YEAH!!!! But unfortunately for them (and perhaps fortunately for me) they had a gun but no ink. I escaped, that time.

The Weinery was my centering point during this time. I could go there, get a cheap meal, and talk about Bike Club lore with the owner, Pat. Various characters would wander in and out all day. Pat would talk about the long-running argument he's had with Per as to whether to paint bikes or leave them as a collage. We'd go out back to the bike pile and Per would show me techniques for building things using what Pat called the science of Eyebology. Sure would be nice to have a Rat Patrol-owned eating establishment. Heck, when we've been around eleven years, who knows?

During the mornings or afternoons I would work the pedicab, making enough money to keep me eating for another day. It was truly joyful, not like work at all. I can't wait to get things rolling in Chicago.

I saw some shows, bands and plays and even a "Romp", a sort of cabaret. I also got a chance to watch the Scallywags practice for their bike circus, and they are a talented bunch. On Monday I attended a Bike Club meeting, as a priveleged Foreign Dignitary. Who knows how they get that wacky bunch to sit still long enough for a meeting? The meeting itself was confidential, but outside Marty had ridden down on the Meatwagon, so there was good food. I got some nice shots of us rolling down the street three pedicabs deep, with the Meatwagon's grill spewing smoke as we grilled on the road.

Afterwards they met up at the Hard Times Cafe for the weekly ride. There were probably 70 wacky bikes there, total, between the BLBC and the Scallywags and various unaffiliated tallbikers. Unlike Rat Rides, they ride to get somewhere, so it was quicker and more strung-out than our rides are. They didn't slow down, cruise, enjoy the trip- they were on their way to the destination to drink. The ride ended by the river in a secluded spot where they attempted to get the attention of passing tugs and get them to shine their light and honk their horn. I finally understood why they had kept asking if they could go down by the river and drink in Chicago, which is just not possible in our boxed-in and crowded rivers. All in all Minneapolis seems to be a much more laid-back city, which no doubt has something to do with the existence of the Bike Club.