Company Party

Last night we had a company party at a boat house on Harfsfjord. There was much discussion about how people were getting to the party-- what mode of transportation. Much alcohol was expected. The party was scheduled to begin at 4pm and run late. I planned to arrive around 8pm after Julian was asleep. I had a vague notion of where the boathouse was located. It wasn't really on a street or road, since it was down by the water.

I left in rather cold weather as the sun was setting. I tried a shortcut down to the water in Madlasandnes. This took me to a treacherous narrow gravel path that teetered above the water. There was no way I would take this route home in the dark. At the point when I was concerned that my short cut may not have been a short cut at all, I spotted the CEO's car. I followed the trail another half kilometer. Thankful I had my bike- it would have been a long walk from the parking area. I found the house. I had arrived. As I entered the cabin, I was greeted with boos-- for I was wearing a blue and yellow jacket: Swedish colors.

I was quickly handed a beer and champagne. Nearly everyone from the company was present. The CEO made quite a fuss that I had biked. It really wasn't that far, and frankly, it was probably the most practical form of transportation considering the circumstances.

No company party would be complete without the potato cannon. Several Jackass-style stunts were attempted, such as trying to hit people at 100m, or shooting a potato straight up, wondering if it would come straight down on someone's head. Those are moments when it is generally ill-advised to look up.

As the night wore on, I decided it was best to head home. I am too old to stay up all night and be functional the next day. I grabbed my bike and headed toward the road. My mind fills with strange thoughts when I bike late at night- or early in the morning as the case may be. The streets are largely empty and the air cool. It felt like autumn was fast approaching. I had flashbacks to late night riding in Minneapolis, when the city had melted away. There is something incredibly peaceful about riding a silent fixed gear, in a narrow tunnel of light, with not a human in sight. By the time I made it to the hill near home, I was particularly appreciative of the easy gear ratio. I was finally home.