may the 1 (Beltane) big ass ride

The plan was to meet at our beloved Bit Saloon at high noon. Standard DB pokiness got a bunch of us there by around 1pm. There were big plates of tasty breakfasty goodness at a modest price, plus Bloody Marys and the usual raging river of beer flow. Dave R brought weaponry in the form of a well-stocked armory of squirt guns and an ill-conceived stack of water balloon launching funnels. Never quite did get the heavy artillery suitably engineered, with attempted launches traveling up to 7 feet or so max, hence most of the balloons were turned on ourselves, producing more than a few wet babies. It was hot as freakin' hell, so this proved more enjoyable than troublesome.
It was suggested that we roll down to Gasworks before heading to Golden Gardens, and it was a really nice day so no one protested. The Burke-Gilman Trail provided a pleasant sunshiney conduit.

gasworks

There was a band or few playing on the stage at the park, and plenty of green grass for reclining on amidst our pile of bikes. Not to mention a well-placed water fountain for refilling our pieces. There was a lot of squirting and running around, and a lot of kids jumping about acting almost as silly as us. We kept our barley-pops stealthily low, and I think somebody revealed some higher octane fluids. We were doing pretty well shooting each other in the ear-holes and armpits, running back and forth reloading, and thusly amusing ourselves. But then it happened, one of the niftier things we'd ever seen...

Some as-yet-undetermined entity brought it upon themselves to procure what must have been a very large container of superballs. They were thrown up up up!, creating an absolute mad frenzy of bouncing delirium which the Babies took to like butter to rye toast. Hundreds if not thousands of bouncy little spheres, EVERYWHERE, ricocheting off everything. Thrown and rethrown in great rubbery swarms. Everybody present scored a few when the storm died down, which took quite some time. Reports of them falling out of messenger bags many days later abound. I've got mine...

Not to be confused with the original SuperBall®.

So we were all hopped up after that (well, more so), and knew we had to get to our pre-procured woodpile deep in Golden Gardens. But that's kind of a big ride, and it was decided we should stop off for fluid refreshment along the way.

the sloop
2830 NW Market
206 782 3330

If you haven't heard the tales, you should know they are both tall and true, just like the giant frosty mugs of icy beer served at The Sloop. I believe 24 ounces, if not more. Not the kind of mug you need two of.

But then again, Dead Babies are unfailingly doing things that they shouldn't be, especially when they don't need to. So the grandiose beverage sizing only presented itself as a challenge, a chance for a few chugging contests. Nick F picked up the dropped gauntlet from who I can't remember (Stevo?), but big ol' brew after big ol' brew started disappearing at a breakneck pace. Personally, I think the brain-freeze would have dropped me about halfway through one. This continued for a little too long, everybody was emptying out their wallets, and some of us even got a little too looped to continue on. There was some spiflicated shrieking in the streets of quiet Ballard that night, most unbecoming of our usual Baby calm, cool demeanor.

But once everybody's snoots were thoroughly full, and then some, we finally fell off our barstools and back into our saddles.

golden gardens
It was a long ride, or push if you're bike kept dropping the chain, to the deepest depths of Golden Gardens. The star on the map wasn't where we ended up (the little fire was more like it), we all trudged way north along (not on, mind you, no death wishes, thanks) the railroad tracks to the place where you're allowed to have a nice bonfire, through parking lot after parking lot and past scads of boats, boating fans, and barbecuers. May 1 happened to be Opening Day for boating season this year, but we had more pressing endeavors, mischievous færies to rid ourselves of.

Of which there were plenty. It seemed that a gaggle of high-schoolers, escaping the wholesome family fun they were too cool for, also shared the sandy coast so far north. We lit the fire, a few of us jumped over it, and tried to convince the kiddies they should do the same. They were friendly enough, but when they made moves toward our hop-juice pile they were ran off with quickness. Some were younger than Dookie's dreadlocks.

Dave R produced a fifth of oak-casked corn-squeezins to speedy drainage. Bags were opened and varied aluminums released and consequently quaffed. Sand was determined as unsuitable for mumbleypeg, but a handy fireside plank was enlisted to fierce gameplay. Just as our liquid supply ran almost out, somebody who'd driven (and actually found a place to park!) magically lugged 2 suitcases onto the scene to great rejoice.

There was wading, face-washing, and then evolution to full-fledged swimming by a brave few. Various cardboards, papers, and woods fed the fire, then eventually the mumblyplank. It was dark, warm, salty, and smoky near the flickering embers, just plain good times.

The rotten kids nextdoor started throwing empty bottles into the sound, and got a vociferous chewing out from ALor. We dutifully packed up our recyclables, located Dookie's shoes, and left a good example, a clean campsite, and a well-exstinguished fire ring. Smokey the Bear would have been proud.

Most of us all piled out into the parking lot darkness kinda late. Some jumped in vehicles, most hopped back on the trail. It was already a long, long day. Some exquisitely tired folks fell asleep on the beach.

But wait, there's more. I don't know if anybody made it from the Golden Gardens crew, but there was a big party at Stu's that night well into the wee hours. If anybody's got a report on that get it in...