I was among 300 people biking to 14 bars on Saturday. Unlike Tour de France featuring fit, sober, athletes, our Tour featured cowboys, indians, cows, miniskirts, beer, shots, and birthday cake.
We were slurring, smoking, and miraculously, actually biking. Without helmets. Not one. I strapped mine on, but noticed I was the only one so I hung it on my handlebars. Peer pressure still gets to me. My husband called me a fucking baby and strapped training wheels to my bike.
This sounds like illegal mayhem, but it's just our way of giving back to the community. You see, this is an annual benefit to raise money for a local family needing financial help. As I watched 40 yr old men pop wheelies, I figured it may indeed be one of us needing the benefit next year, but we threw caution to the wind and kept clicking off bars 1-14, hoping to make a big contribution to this amazing family in need.
As I looked around Bar #12, the karaoke bar, I realized something. I smiled as people were screaming out the lyrics to "Sweet Caroline", I giggled at my husband getting a lap dance from the neighbor ladies, and I wrapped my arms around my best friend since 3rd grade as her cowboy hat poked me in the eye.
I realized that if I were visiting this town, I would want to live here. Of all the places in the world, I would choose this place again and again. It's home. And it's a damn good one.