Last night’s Eagle ride was hot’n’humid on the way out, all full of nature on the way back.
Anders, Ben, Jane and I set off a little before 6, and with Ben leading the pack at a fierce pace for the heat and the drunk Anders. No worries, it felt pretty great once we made it to the One-Eyed Dog.
The kitchen staff remembered us, noting we were quite early; sadly, our usual bartender/waitress wasn’t working.
Jane and I managed to do lots of unladylike things at dinner. And there was lots of talk of shake’n’bake babies. It’s not what you think. Ok, maybe it kind of is.
On the very rapid, slightly downhill, mosquito-ridden ride home, there were fields full of lightning bugs, much like a level in We Love Katamari, except real and more beautiful. A little black mole scurried across the path to a collective “awwww!” and a deer came running out in front of Ben right after the tunnel. Even at his generally fast pace, the deer outran him, hooves’n’hands down.
Thanks to the shake’n bake baby reference, I now know, without a doubt, what my Roller Derby name would be.
I have been wrestling with this issue for almost a year now, and never came to any real conclusive, solid, satisfying choice.
If ever I were to be a Derby Girl, my name would be Shaken Baby.
Thank you. Thank you v. much.