I've always liked this scene.
The late, lamented Raúl Julia begins the Gumball Rally - a manic, ho-holds-barred romp from New York to the Queen Mary in Long Beach, CA.
Madness ensues across the continent.
I've always loved manic no-holds-barred romps. Very much not a competitive person - so I say - the ideas of subversive action and gleeful (if harmless) sabotage appeal to me.
I understand rules, appreciate and use them.
I just don't always like them, being more fond of clever than smart.
My rating of ENTP on the Myers-Briggs test - though trending toward introversion rather than extroversion as I age - might explain it.
The interview for my last school job specifically included the comment "You think outside the box, don't you?"
"There's a box?" was my astonished reply.
They should have known what they were getting.
Earlier this evening, after a later-than-usual day at work I met my friend Mistress Selcouth of the Dark Follies for a sorbetto and a friendly chat about the Follies, performance skills in general and all-around people watching.
We also were both drowned out by an army of seagulls screaming as their formation roamed over Danforth Street. I fully expected them to be followed by a Pteranodon, chasing them around the way bluefish chase scrod into the inlets up North - causing massive oxygen die-off and a smell of rotting fish that can rip your nostrils out anywhere from Brunswick to Damariscotta.
As I said I have a high tolerance for ambiguity.
Where was I? Oh yes, sorbetto.
I'd noticed a flyer on Geno's Rock Bar - and Raúl Julia's remark leapt into my head like Superman through a brick wall - standing there looking genially into my mind's eye, arms akimbo, a lock of hair over an eye, the dust settling and the clink of an occasional brick breaking the pregnant silence.
Inside my head, of course.
An Alley Cat Road Race is an actual method of staging an in-town bike race. Born from the bike messenger subculture it happens much like a messenger's daily work. Racers go from checkpoint to checkpoint, in the best time and route they can improvise and are only told the location of the next immediate stop.
Some checkpoints may require tasks - obstacles, quizzes, alcoholic consumption - before the next location is revealed.
Participation is valued more than competition (generally).
The race tonight had two checkpoints and a finishing point on the Western Promenade, some 2.5 miles away. From the Casco Bay monument that marked the end of Congress Street rose the punishing slope of Munjoy Hill. The race had a formidable first obstacle.
What it didn't have was participants. They delayed for about 30 nail-gnawing, mosquito-biting minutes (I mean the mosquitoes were doing the biting), but at 9:30 the young organizer looked at the other 3 members and called the race, transforming it on the spot to a tour of the city.
So this particular Alley Cat Race came to naught - if good companionship and a pleasant ride around this old seaport city can be called "naught".
There will be another attempt. After all, the promised beer that was the prize didn't get consumed - as far as I can tell. Perhaps I might even take part in it. I have a nice bike mouldering in the basement, since I walk everywhere now.
We shall see. Right now I'll not worry myself.
As Franco Bertollini said "What's behind me is not important".
That crash and clink you hear was either a brick or a mirror.
Who can tell?
Portland, Maine
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