It truly did sound like a good idea -- an adventure -- safer than bungee jumping and way more enjoyable than that thing that everybody seems to be doing; the run through the muddy jungle where you get electrocuted and chased by zombies.
My cousin took me out to her car and lifted up the back hatch to show me. It was shiny and looked like something Batman might keep in the Bat Cave.
"See my new bike?" She said it slyly as she so smoothly sunk her lawyerly hooks in. "You have one, right?"
Then she stood back and let the sparkly newness surround me, biding her time before she settled into her matter-of-fact voice. "We should sign up for the STP," she said.
Before I could fly back to the East Coast and pump up my tires, I had agreed to it. Two hundred three miles over two days from Seattle to Portland. The closer it gets, the farther that distance seems.
And then she fell. My cousin had a nasty crash on her new BatBike and she's out of the ride.
But I have a plane ticket and training under my belt and a shiny new BatBike of my own. I can't stop now. My Summer Fun will continue.
Because look at what waits for me at the finish line in Portlandia:
And the Mothership:
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