Tulsa Critical Mass Ride
Part One: Alien Invasion
On Friday, August 28th, the city of Tulsa experienced the full horror of a Critical Mass ride as
thousands hundreds nearly a dozen cyclists converged on the helpless city. Downtown office workers fled in terror ahead of the ravenous horde, their screams echoing off deserted buildings. But damn, they could run fast! By the time the relentless Mass reached the city center, all the office munchkins were long gone.
(Well, OK, it was 7PM on a Friday evening, and tumbleweeds could roll through downtown streets.)
The wary band of intrepid warrior bikers searched in every direction, but motorists were few.
So they set off on a quest to find commuters to annoy.
Part Two: Quest for Fire
Towering cliffs of office buildings cast long shadows across city streets. The gloom gave sustenance and cover to the forces of evil, protecting them from prying eyes and the vigilant band of biking brothers...and sisters...and some brothers in dresses. Whatever.
The two-wheeled invaders could feel malevolent eyes following their movements. Orcs might lurk in the shadows. Godzilla could lie concealed in an alleyway. Mothra could perch atop a building overhead. Manaical taxi drivers with Mohawks could be idling just around the next corner.
I steeled myself for the inevitable conflict, preparing to match brains and brawn against the most insidious evil ever to walk the face of the Earth. My warrior's mantra was taken from the immortal words of Conan the Barbarian. When the local warlord asked, "Conan, what is good in life?" he replied:
To crush your enemies
To see them run before you
To hear the lamentations of the women
Conan would go on to become a major player in the Republican party. Imagine that.
Part Three: Combat
Something moved in the gloom ahead. Dimly, I could see a cleverly disguised group of orcs sitting at tables in a sidewalk cafe. They did their best to look like office drones having some drinks after a long workday, but my discerning eye revealed their cunning ambush. I reached for my blade, an ancient longsword forged in the frozen mountains of Cimmeria in the mists of time before even the gods imagined the world. With my hand on the hilt which had tasted the blood of countless......
...my cellular phone rang. "Hello?" I asked.
"Where are you?" It was She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed. "You were supposed to be home an hour ago. I'm hungry and you were going to take me out for dinner, remember? And then we're going to watch that movie I rented."
"Yes, my dear. I'll be right home." Even Conan knew when to retreat in the face of a superior force. But further horror lay ahead. She'd rented "The Horse Whisperer" for the third time. Oh, the humanity!
(My grateful thanks to the late Walter Mitty for his invaluable assistance in preparing this piece.)