Photos and video courtesy Teresa Cero Thacker
Makenna Hardy moved to Baltimore in 2010. Her lease on her Hampden home is up December 31st and she has to make a decision: Does she want to stay in Baltimore or does she go explore another city? Over the next six weeks, she will bring you along on her journey as she explores what Baltimore has to offer, before making her final decision.
Part 3: Baltimore Bike Party Pajamboree
If the concept of biking around downtown Baltimore in the middle of December wearing pajamas doesn’t appeal to you, you are probably a rational human being. Being rational gets you a lot of things in life like respect and maybe money, but it does not allow you to participate in the The Baltimore Bike Party Pajamboree. Yes, this Pajamboree was the next delicious bite of the moldy cheeseburger I have been talking about in my previous articles.
The Baltimore Bike Party is held on the last Friday the month. Bikers meet at the Washington Monument in Mount Vernon and bike (surprise!) as a group on a pre-determined route. Each bike ride ends at a bar with deals on alcohol and fun.
The first time I heard of BBP was on my living room couch. I was watching a prerecorded episode of The Office for the 7th time when I was interrupted by flashing lights and loud yelling outside my window. This was different than the usual domestic dispute and barricade of cop cars. Yes, this was no lover’s quarrel, these were happy howls. I watched in awe as hundreds of bikers zoomed past my living room window. It was so mesmerizing that I forgot about Jim and Pam.
I found out through friends that I was witnessing the Baltimore Bike Party and about a month later I had the opportunity to participate in this festival of howling bikers. The website said that the bikers were to leave around 7:30 sharp on this particular ride. I was working until 8 and did not have a bike or a car that could fit a bike, but this seemed like a great idea.
On Monday everything seemed to fall into place. My boss informed me that they needed to cut hours that week so I generously agreed to leave at 6 on Friday. That day my boyfriend also informed me that he had two bikes.
Just as easily as things fall into place, they fall out of place. The next day he totaled his car and I completely forgot that this meant I would have no way of getting the bikes. I guess I assumed the bikes would magically float to my destination on Friday.
Six o’ clock on Friday rolled around and the bikes did not float to my house. There was no one to transport them and make it to the party in time. Traffic was horrendous and 7:30 was getting closer and closer.
I frantically tried to make sense of the situation by calling all of my closest friends and their mothers begging for a bike. My neighbor was planning on biking with me and I was going to have to let her down unless the pink scooter on my back porch would count as a bike. I told her the tragic news, and she told me she was tired anyway, but I could borrow her bike if I wanted to venture solo. Here I Go Again by Whitesnake played in my head while I changed out of my work clothes and into my best flannel.
I sped to her house and attempted to force the bike into various yoga positions to get it into my car. The bike had been practicing its yoga, so it made it. Barely. I barreled into the city cursing every red light. And then I saw them, a mass of helmets and flashing lights standing at the monument. Fifty shades of onesie.
I still had to find parking. It was 7:20. I cursed the parking gods, and violently threw my fists into the sky. I circled twenty times. I circled some more. I was sure parking in other cities wasn’t as bad. I threatened to the spirit of Lord Baltimore himself that I would drive to another city and live there if he didn’t give me a parking spot. He listened. I found a spot next to the monument and struggled to untangle the bike out of my car. Somehow I did it and I biked to what I thought was the front of the crowd. It was 7:31.
The speaker started to talk and I realized the front was actually the back. I would be bringing up the rear. He gave a rundown of what we were about to do, bike across the city without offending the people sitting on their couches watching The Office. Then he yelled the words “Baltimore Bike Party!” and the crowd roared and honked their horns. Someone followed up by sarcastically yelling “Something about something!” A small roar followed.
It is true. You get a bunch of people together for something about something and the energy becomes contagious. I was still quite frazzled over my traffic-parking-not-having-a-bike situation, but I found it very difficult to stay in my bad mood when surrounded by a bunch of semi rational individuals in pajamas.
I started to pedal. I scanned the crowd for familiar faces. Usually in “smalltimore” it is not hard to find someone you know, but maybe smalltimore is only small if you continue to go to the same places time after time. Whitesnake continued to play, but this time in a more uplifting sense.
Onlookers were a lot more positive than expected. I had braced for the worst. I imagined them throwing stones and bricks and violently pushing bikers to the ground. I would like to attribute this to too much violent TV and say that it was just the opposite. Baltimore city residents treated us like celebrities giving us high fives, breaking out their I-phones and cheering for us. I was particularly worried about riding in the questionable areas of the city, but the people in these areas were actually the most receptive to us. Every few minutes someone would ask “what are you riding for?” and we would yell in tandem “Baltimore Bike Party!” I was glad to be along for the ride.
I strolled along at a pretty slow pace and eventually we came to a stop in a park. I was confused. I am told that I have a naturally confused look on my face, so when I am actually confused it is pretty evident.
A fellow biker saw this and asked me if I lost my group. I told him I did not have a group and he told me he did not either. He introduced himself as Brodie and informed me that we were not finished and only about halfway through the ten-mile journey.
Although Brodie had only moved here 4 months ago, he was not new to BBP. He informed me that he considered himself a part of the Baltimore bike subculture. I had never even thought about this. Cars save time, but you really miss out by driving in an enclosed vehicle all the time. There is no car subculture. Once I got my license I preferred 4 wheels to 2 and never looked back. I have really been missing out.
Once we got started again, Brodie and I stuck together. He taught me how to use my gears. I was a gear master at one point in my life. Relearning this was as easy as riding a bike. Shifting gears to the top of the hill we were able to look down at the crowd of bikers glittering through the right side of the street with their flashing lights. I wanted to take a picture, but that would probably involve taking my hands of the handlebars and crashing my bike into a pole.
As we glittered through the road, organizers blocked traffic at red lights. Some cars honked, but it was more of a delicate ‘hey how are you?’ instead of the usual honk-middle-finger-choice-word-combo. The only person I saw get mad was a girl yelling “It’s my mothef***ing birthday” as her taxi was forced to stop for us continued to run the meter.
Her muscular boyfriend got out of the car ready to fight the biker stopping traffic, but about five bikers flocked over to him including Brodie. I continued to bike through. When a fight breaks out my natural instinct is to run, or in this case bike. Brodie caught back up to me a little later and told me that muscleman had retreated back to the car when he saw he was outnumbered. He told me that when a biker is threatened, everyone sticks together to protect them.
I can relate to the birthday girl. I spent an hour of my life sitting in my car cursing runners decked out in Christmas garb happily trotting past me. I wanted to tap them on the shoulder and tell them they were making me late for work, but that would involve picking a fight with Santa or Rudolph. In this case the cab driver should have turned off the car, but that is not how cab drivers operate. I hope someone compensated the girl in some way. Judging by the attitude of this group of people, I am fairly certain this did happen.
Despite this tragic birthday tale, I witnessed a wonderful sense of comradely. Even though I had gone alone and Whitesnake had subsided, I no longer felt alone. Even in my outdated mountain bike, I felt part of an elite bike subculture. I was glad to be off of my couch and out of my car. Prerecorded episodes of The Office will always be there, but events like this cannot be repeated.
As the event came to an end, we locked our bikes at the convention center as hundreds of bikers flocked to Pratt Street Ale House. I am not usually a fan of crowded bars, so I opted out to meet some old friends for drinks in my hood. Looking at the pictures on facebook of people dancing in leopard print onsies, I somewhat regret this decision. I guess if you are going to eat a cheeseburger you need to eat the whole thing.
It then occurred to me that I did not know how I was getting back to my car. My sense of direction is worse than a blind camel. I have never seen a blind camel, but I’d imagine it would be pretty sad.
Luckily Brodie, who as I mentioned, had only been in Baltimore four months, was there to save the day. Simply follow the light rail and turn right on Monument Street he told me. Even though I was only traveling for less than a mile, I feared my life. He gave me a simple piece of advice. “Own the road” he said as he sped off to his next adventure. Whitesnake played again. And that is what I did. I owned the road in my pajamas.
I got a lot of strange looks and questions going back to my car. Once I got back into Mount Vernon, I think I spent more time looking for my car than the entire ten mile journey took me. As I circled and circled, I felt alone again. Big groups of people dressed to the nines walked in front of me, and I was homeless and alone.
I found relief as I smiled at a couple dressed as unicorns in their pajamas. It was like being part of a secret society. I was part of Baltimore’s bike subculture for a night and it felt good.
Since, participating in BBP the desire to own a bike has increased. The cheeseburger continues to lose its moldy odor as I dream of rocking out to Whitesnake biking through the streets of Baltimore.
