More pictures below.
Even though this was the sixth time Cat 6 assaulted the Twin Cities streets with their sophisticated facial hair growth, this was by far the most anticipated Who Wants a Mustache Ride yet. Though the group would be faced with many challenges throughout the evening, they knew in their hearts that they were up to task.
Rolling out from West Bank Free Wheel not a moment before twenty minutes late with some of the most impressive facial hair accrued to date, they set off for unknown waters of St. Paul to the beautiful little watering hole on University Ave, the Dubliner. There the group learned that Guinness sticks to staches and that bar regulars dedicated to their mustaches don’t always appreciate visitors with fleeting mustache enthusiasm.
Wheel quickly changed the stache parade down Summit Avenue began. Deviating from plan, they chose the path of law abiding citizens and bypassed their opportunity to mark the governor’s lawn with a ‘6’. Rather, they decided to get a little wind in their mustaches and flew down Ramsey hill. In this law abiding state, the riders were perplexed by the vocal motorist that insisted on verbally and physically escorting them down the hill. Shaking their heads at the silly car, the riders continued safely.
After such an eventful slide down Ramsey hill, the stop at Great Waters was prolonged. While the brews, fare and atmosphere at Great Waters rivals most, the delay was likely due to the group’s lack of motivation to climb back up to Summit Avenue, particularly 5316, who, in an aged tantrum, declared that he was old and climbing hurt.
Stop number three, Groveland Tap was achieved at long last, however, having heard that Josh had already tapped the backup keg of home brew, (and also because they were scaring mothers and children) they moved quickly to stop number four where a hearty bonfire awaited them at Josh’s abode.
Despite the arrival being delayed as T3 and his cx tire changing abilities were called to question for an unprecedented second time that evening, inevitably, they did make it to Fire house where they imbibed, had good times and laughed too much.
Little G had been leading the group in her leather mini skirt all night. Upon arriving to Town Hall, rebelling against his age, 5316 in his 6 feet of glory mounted her 45 cm Bianchi and fervently displayed his youth while circling the patio maniacally cackling ‘no one can stop this mutha fucka’. Thankfully, no bones were broken.
As the others rolled in to the mother land, they found comfort in the warm walls of their beloved Town Hall, thankfully flush with great food, laughter and fun… and devoid of vomiting.