The Tachyon
Dimensions Ridden, Dirt Preferred
Bill, known in certain circles as Snuggles for hugs that border on structural damage, had this idea. Not a normal idea. The kind that starts with a modified bike, a questionable understanding of quantum physics, and Mo, aka Cuddlebears, who is somehow both the engine and the only reason the whole thing doesn’t collapse into overthinking. Together they built the Tachyon Bikes, and together they pointed it at the seam between worlds and just... pedaled.
The first jump landed them somewhere that smelled like copper and smoke, cobblestones under their wheels, airships overhead. Bill was wearing a leather duster and goggles before he even understood what had happened. Mo had a corset with actual gauges on it. They took a selfie on a brass communication device because of course they did.
Then the over-calibration. The flux capacitor, that smug little component, dumped them into a world where everything was soft and slightly unfinished. Plasticine trees. Clay people. Mo’s hands were smooth and pinkish and perfect in a deeply unsettling way. They had dinner anyway, soy sauce bottles being the only sharp objects in the zip code, surrounded by tiny clay strangers who seemed unbothered.
Then the bike lurched again and everything went quiet and white, and Bill caught his reflection in a window, a plush man with a fleece bear hat, holding a felted phone, fat biking through absolute muffled silence. Honestly the best felt biking either of them had ever done, which says something.
The machine eventually quit with no drama. No flash. Just stopped. Crisp golden-hour air, tall pines, dirt underfoot. The silence faded, the air became crisp with golden-hour light, and they were back on dirt. They weren’t clay or plush toys anymore, just Bill and Mo on a simple trail through tall pines, taking a regular selfie. The machine was fried, but Bill smiled. Mo grinned, wrapping her arm around him, noting it also had them, and suggested a classic, real-world, one-day-at-a-time ride on a new loop she wanted to try. He followed, grabbing the handle of the plain, normal bike, ready for the next ride for the pure, simple joy of it.
April 12th Weather Patterns
Twenty-five years of April 12ths reveal a pattern: complicated weather, ambitious goals, and that recurring choice to push through anyway. Some days deliver epic rides and small victories. Other days serve up sideways bikes and missed targets by 2.2 pounds.
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