Thursday, February 21, 2013

The Incredible True Story of #callahannightride

I posted this meme on Facebook this morning, but didn't provide details as to not ruin the story for those who would be hearing it in person today. However, I guess I should provide an explanation, so even if it leaves me short of material for my Monday post, I'm doing a special mid-week blog to fill curious parties in on The Incredible True Story of #callahannightride.


It was born of a concurrent discussion of the insomnia that has been creeping into my life lately, and the negotiation of a potential Friday morning Death March ride. Unfortunately, the proposed ride would have to happen just too early to be practical, but the discussion was not without a riding at 4 a.m. joke. Somehow in my insomniac brain seized on this suggestion, and I just couldn't let go of how awesome a story a nighttime trip to Callahan would make. It would also solve training ride scheduling issue.

I first considered Thursday night, as I could just shove the sleep into my now unscheduled time on Friday morning, but the forecast looked grim. I decided that if there was anything positive about my recent insomnia, it was the fact that I knew that I was actually able to go to work on 3 hours of sleep and still function okay, so I figured it might be nice to use that ability for fun instead of anxiety. Wednesday's forecast was cold and clear, and a ride that night would only force me to slug through one last day of the workweek in a state of fatigue. So I convinced my hashtag-loving Death March partner that #callahannightride was the best idea ever.

The ghosts of Callahan are pissed that we are disturbing them.
And it kind of was. The night was cold, but it was clear and beautiful, with a good amount of light from the moon and stars. We reached our destination without a hitch, although taking the requisite POIDH proved a bit difficult with the riding lights. Overall it was a good, solid ride, and a fun adventure.

Then we got back to the car, which had been parked a Maumee Boy Scout camp, the host site of the last two years' Death Marches. I had thought nothing of parking the car there, but apparently it's presence on a cold Wednesday night caused quite a kerfuffle. There were two sheriff's cars awaiting our return, and after having our ID's inspected and receiving a long lecture involving suicide, meth labs, and mini skirts, we were informed of the apparent massive manhunt for our frozen, dead bodies. Because, you know, we'd been gone for like two hours.

Because the car was registered in Adam's name, they'd already called both him and his parents and pretty much freaked everyone out. Apparently they were looking for his frozen, dead body first. Then when they determined he was alive, they gave him so little information that the actual presence of frozen, dead bodies was actually implied, instead of just vague "missing" person of whom the authorities didn't even know the identity. I felt horrible to have caused so much drama. After some profuse apologies to the deputies and the caretaker of the camp, we were finally allowed to leave. So I don't think we were ever in any actual danger of getting arrested, but it makes a better story to say that. We had quite a few laughs about it on the way home.

In the end, it was a memorable night that can only be described as both awesome and mortifying, but I would say the balance is heavily leaning toward awesome.

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