It was near the bridge when the cold started to kick in.
“Dude, Dozier, I can’t feel my face,” I yelled to my esteemed boss.
“Yeah, for sure,” he haphazardly yelped back. “I think I’m at the point of not caring anymore, I lost my sense of touch when we were going down the hill, I’m used to that whole, you know, numbing feeling.”
It was Wednesday night; we had finished our respective duties at the Nexus relatively early and decided to wet our whistles a little bit. Realizing that it takes me the same amount of time to ride my bike to OTT as it does to make the trek back to Fortuna from Storke Tower, I figured, why the hell not?
People always tell me I’m crazy when I tell them almost every time I’ve been to the Tavern, I’ve ridden my cruiser there.
I might be crazy, the jury is still out on that one, but it certainly has nothing to do with my favorite bike ride.
Little do the naysayers know, getting to OTT by means of bicycle is as easy as, well, riding a bike. The oft-used airport bike path takes you from campus right to the Tavern’s doorstep in a quick, mostly downhill, ten-odd minutes.
First, a disclaimer.
It’s dark. It’s cold. Don’t black out. There, I said it.
The idea first – to my knowledge – surfaced when some of the good employees at Carrillo Dining Commons started making the trek weekly on Wednesday nights over the summer. I, like those who tell me, thought they were crazy, but in a brilliant, John Nash-esque way. I had to tag along.
Our journey almost came to a premature halt, when the Airport Police stopped us. Fifteen obnoxious males yelling all the way from I.V. to OTT, apparently, draws a considerable amount of attention. Once they realized we were, for the most part, sober, and none of us had any outstanding warrants, they let us be on our merry way. That is, after our collection of curb-sitters sang resident stud Daley Tocher “Happy Birthday” while the local authorities checked all of our IDs.
So this brings us back to mine and Dozier’s Tavern-ous trek to the bar this week. Let’s just say the weather has been unkind this season, and trying to put the chain back on my shit cruiser in sub-par Santa Barbara weather on the not so well-lit airport bike path with a rocking buzz, is not very appealing.
But hey, it’s all worth it to watch a bunch of drunks sloppily that errantly underestimated the potency of the discounted Long Islands sing Journey. OTT Long Islands equal all liquor, all bottom shelf – in other words: Proceed with extreme caution.
As much of an advocate as I am of the short bike ride, can’t say I recommend it for the weak-livered. The Tavern is a recipe for disaster, the cheap booze and the fact that by 1 a.m. the bar more closely resembles what I would imagine the drunk tank looks like, trying to ride home probably isn’t the brightest of ideas. Hell, knowing I have an uphill battle to deal with after last call helps me keep it in moderation. Not to say I don’t enjoy the J