---Click the spoke card above for pix---OR---click HERE for Lee Roy's pix---

Beer and bicycling could be one of the best combos since beer and tacos or beer and pizza. Even since beer and more beer.

It was a crowded meet up at the Gingerman since the Decembrists were playing next door at the Metro. But, all 30 Fucking Bike Clubbers managed to gravitate to the window with beers in hand to get the Full Moon Fiasco cooking for the evening. Consider this an early warning: there may be a new meet up spot going forward.

Carolyn chost the destination and more or less led the route up the lakefront path and through Edgewater to Rogers Park. The ride was of a good distance…it was a good two-High Life ride. After an uneventful and super pleasant cruise, we arrived at Duke’s Hideaway.

Neil, the owner, surprised us all by offering garage space to all of us to park our rides for the night. Super Cool. A reception like this would be kickass every week. The beer was cheap and Ryan entertained us with some intoxicated musical stylings after the band finished up.

We snapped a good Full Moon shot (sans representation from the Ass Committee) and shortly after set out on our way South. This month’s extra curriculars included PJ and I drunk-sprinting on a kiddie track and some intoxicated playground tomfoolery. That is, until the Five-O chased us off with a flurry of expletives.

All in all a great ride. Lots of new faces, always great to see. We even had Laura, a St. Louis FBC veteran join our ranks. Now, don't for a moment think I'm playing loose and fancy with my approval stamp, but this one deserves one:

PS, anyone want to wager how many more months I can post a shot of 20+ asses on Chainlink before Leah or Howard give me a call to tell me to knock it off?

Full Moon Fiasco VII true-up

---Click the spoke card to see the pix---

Crankus, god of bicycling and all that is groovy, granted the Full Moon Fiasco pleasing weather conditions for the very first time. It’s also the first time since I’ve known him that Pierogi John has been gainfully employed. So, we toasted his good fortune at the Gingerman. Good Crankus was smiling upon us and our ales.

I was pleased to see so many new faces. There were at least 12 first timers (probably more) but Scott, Jessica, Brad, Maggie, Lauren (remarkably has never ridden a Fiasco) and Melissa were the only newbs that dared ride with us. They rock. The others ducked out with excuses of varying degrees of lameness. There was also one dude with an injury, so he was literally lame, therefore exempt from my finger wagging.

But, we were underway after downing our suds and bombed down Clark Street amidst the Cubs Game hustle. After a brief and fruitless attempt to extract The Hazard from Performance Bikes and give Lauren a quick air up, we continued South by Southwest cheesegratering across the Chicago River on Webster with a sweet view of the skyline. We annoyed a few hipsters in Wicker Park and finally cruised into Phyllis’ Musical Inn.

Lee Roy and I promptly kicked some ass in a game of HORSE in the beer garden with a ball with less air than…well…a thing that doesn’t have very much air in it. OR: …with a ball flatter than…one of those really flat things. OR: with a ball more limp and leathery than…

After drinking Phyllis’ dry of High Life, the Ass Committee co-Captain, Marcus arrived. We promptly snapped a good full moon photo of the remaining asses and headed off for Schubas to finish off any lingering effects of sober brain cells. All in all, this one gets a stamp of approval:



Credits:

Spoke Card design………………………………Garth
Point man for ride……………………...……….Darin
Ass Captain………………………...……..………Marcus
Full Moon over Division Photographer…Melissa
Token Tall Guy…….………………………....…Lee Roy
Fancy bike……………………………...…..……..Ed
Jackass……………………………………….….....PJ

Most Surly...................................Maggie

Full Moon Fiasco VI true-up

---click the spoke card on the left for pix---

Six Fiascos, and not a single one in fair weather. The law of averages insists that number seven will be sublime. Despite the cold and impending rain, we numbered about a dozen, including newbs Tim, Lee and PJ’s sister Lisa.

The route was sweet: Clark Street, Lakefront, the North Ave Beach Ped Bridge. There was a quick stop for some illicit activity in the Park, then we hit the Underground Wonderbar ready to drink. Lisa hooked us up with a massively discounted cover and we settled in for some Red Stripes and Reggae music.

The Pink Sash of Shame debuted with a half-assed awarding to John. The main reason he ended up the first recipient was because he walked by PJ and I when we were talking about the idea a few weeks prior. Several variations on how to rock the Sash were demonstrated, most disturbingly by Marcus. The true purpose will be to adorn the rider that leaves a ride early for what is deemed "wussy" reasons.

Speaking of Marcus, he has volunteered to co-captain the ass committee. Two ass captains are better than one in my estimation. Marcus quickly fulfilled his duties by organizing the Full Moon over Walton Ave.

Full Moon Fiasco V true-up

Our safety record stays clean (barely), there were tons of new faces, a committee is formed and as a result the FBC gets some ass (again).

Seconds after hanging up my phone, hearing that he was only a few blocks away and about to join up with us, The Hazard called back to let me know he’d just been hit by a car. The look on the driver’s face was one of shock when 20 bicyclists flew into the parking lot two minutes later to check on him. Thankfully Martin escaped the event with some soreness and a wobbly front wheel and the Fiasco was on.

There were too many new faces Saturday for me to name check them all but I do want to shout a big WELCOME TO CHICAGO and slap on the back to Andrew and his fancy black track rig. Good to see so many people Saturday.

The plan for this Fiasco was to celebrate spring under the full moon by hitting one of the best beer gardens in town at Moody’s Pub. A Springtime Arctic Blast common in Chicago thwarted this and kept us on the medieval interior of the joint. The factor I did not foresee was the restraint-setup of the place which lamely kept us all sitting at one long table—making it hard to drift about.

Last, certainly not least, the Ass Committee was formed Saturday night to organize the ever-elusive ass photo. The Ass Committee is really comprised of one person, so Ammo is more along the lines of our very first Ass Captain. An honor for sure. After a couple of assless months, a number of brave and prideless FBCers lined up at about midnight to moon the moon. A glorious thing.

Biking in Amsterdam

When people asked me what my plans were for Amsterdam, I replied, not entirely joking that I was going to:

A.) Rent a bike

B.) Get higher than Jesus

C.) Cruise around town on said bike sipping some local beer and enjoy the sights.

Knowing that Amsterdam is a bike-oriented city, this seemed the perfect plan. What could be wrong with it? Seems to be a pretty laid-back relaxed place right?

Wrong. Upon leaving the train station with a slightly off-kilter, hungover gait, Darin and I were nearly dismembered maimed or nearly separated from life by: three trams, one bus, four cars and about 37 bicycles. This was in a span of 45 seconds. Safe at last in the hotel room, I collapsed.

Despite the deadly madness of Amsterdam streets, we did end up renting bikes. Imagine a ginormous sharp-angled cruiser geared like a track bike and thrown off a cliff. That's what we were issued. The Amsterdam standard.

At this point stoned-riding was out of the question and Darin and I learned the hard way the previous day that drinking on the streets of Amsterdam does not have the same legal protection as say, Germany, Italy, New Orleans. (Ironically enough, we were taught this lesson by cops on bikes.) Sober was the only way to navigate. Well, mostly sober.

The fast and light riding most of us are accustomed to in Chicago is certainly a product of our environment. A lack of, or ignored bike lanes with drivers hurtling their cars heedlessly down pot-holed streets makes us essentially fighter-pilots on the streets. Amsterdam bikers are more like...critical mass every day. But, imagine a critical mass in which if you stop paying attention for a split second, a Fiat and tram car will slice you in half.

Full Moon Fiasco IV true-up

(Click the spoke card to see the pix.)

Thanks to John, we have a true up this month, and to Aaron for the pix, which I have the pleasure of uploading and linking, respectively, from Venice. (Ain't the internet swell?)

Fiasco #4 held true to the founding principle of "visible moon, no visible ass." Michael made his debut at the Gingerman as a new Fiasco rider; Martin regaled the uninformed with the always terrifying "Tale of the Phantom Shitter." Fried things from across the street were consumed while Darin distributed the always coveted spoke cards.
From there, we stopped at the Hungry Brain, for a dark, jazzy mid-ride interlude. Some were lured by the vintage Galaga game, others by cheap beer and the sight of hipsters on couches. Carolyn and Fernando joined up en route.
The climax of the evening was at Weegee's Lounge, after Martin baffled a couple of officers in a squad car along the way. The photo booth stuffing record was achieved (trashing the first set of photos due to ass-blockage of the flash), the bar cat was petted heavily and Brett realized his u-lock had fallen out of his bag when leaving the Hungry Brain. He tore up the pavement racing back, retrieved the lock and returned to Weegee's in triumph. Eventually the vintage tunes were interrupted by last call being announced, and we reluctantly left to brave the blue light cameras and empty streets for the ride home.

FIASCO IV is coming!!!

Good news is that it's almost time for this craziness again. Bad news is, I won't be able to attend. Trust me, it's for good reason...I wouldn't even consider missing it if it were otherwise. BUT, there's still a route planned and there will be some rockin spoke cards.

So here's the scoop: Gingerman at 8, as per usual. Heading to Weegee's via the Hungry Brain at 9.