critical mass in costume

Rode for nearly an hour in the pouring rain in my policewoman costume through crazy Rochester streets I'd never seen before. CM is smaller here, and accordingly people are more friendly, and anyone who is riding silently and sees you riding silently will roll up and introduce themselves. Unlike the New Haven townie-dominated crowd, a lot of participants are college students; the ones I met were mostly from RIT. (Is it any surprise that fewer participants come from ivory tower institutions?) The first one, whose name I now forget, is doing the RIT equivalent of American Studies, i.e. you take just about anything that interests you and roll it all up into a degree. We seem to feel the same way about the lack of variety of interests of our peers. Many of the riders were not as Rochester-entrenched in their loyalties as New Haven riders. Some of them do not ride because they love Rochester, but because it's one of the few things they've found to love about Rochester. Now I feel better about my ambivalance towards the city. One's experience can vary greatly depending on the specific role, environment, and community into which one enters. Also surprising: most riders I met today were from the midwest.

Apparently there is no post-CM party, although the movie screenings at rundown St. Joseph's are also a good idea. Sometimes a warm home and hot chocolate are really what one needs after a winter ride, though. And winter commences tomorrow, IIRC. Happy last day of fall, folks! Perhaps I'll propose a CM party as summer nears and we can keep folks partying outside.

The irony of my dressing as a police officer and riding in Critical Mass did not strike me until another rider remarked on its cleverness. Doh! I also was unaware that RIT students were told that a bearded Phanton-of-the-Opera type musician played the carillon and never allowed himself to be seen. I guess I ruined their fun. I wonder what other surprises await me as I try to figure out this place.

After irritatedly finding my way back along the pedestrian/bike-unfriendly streets, I came into the kitchen freshly out of my military boots dripping from head to toe. Donna gave me the most priceless "how can you explain yourself?" look.