Dear besties,
On a normal Saturday in November, I’d be sitting on the couch, twiddling my thumbs and cursing myself for ever moving to this god forsaken land of Canada Minor. But this past Saturday, I got up off my fat duff and did something productive — I rode in the second annual Great Turkey Chase.
The Great Turkey Chase is the brainchild of my friend Elgee (we’ll use pseudonyms to protect the innocent) and a bitchin’ way to get exercise while simultaneously doing something good for the community and scaring the living bejesus out of yourself. Here’s the gist of it:
The event is an alley cat race, or an informal urban bike race that pits cool fixie kids against other cool fixie kids in a battle of radness and bikemanship. Think Brooklyn bike messengers riding bikes with handlebars narrower than my waist. These are not folks who wear Spandex clown kits or tip-tap bike shoes. They wear skinny jeans, Vans and neon sunglasses. Most don’t even wear helmets. And if they do, they’re limited edish and rad.
Alley cat races normally involve a series of checkpoints and large quantities of utility beer like PBR, Genny Cream Ale or Stroh’s. Instead, this race involved collecting Thanksgiving food items for the Chittenden Emergency Food Shelf. Altruism mixed with bicycling and tomfoolery. What could be better?
This race was based on a series of 10 checkpoints, each one a corner store, a supermarket or a gas station. At each location, racers were required to buy a foodstuff — gravy, stuffing, cranberry sauce, etc. We had to hit the checkpoints in order, but we could pick the route.
Today I hopped in the Vibrator and drove my sweet one up to 
Many are the reasons why fall is not my favorite time of year:
