I Would Bike Five Hundred Bars, and I Would Bike Five Hundred More

Everyone knows that bicycles are a healthy, eco-friendly mode of transportation.

What you don't know is that bicycles are actually hormonally-injected genetically mutated unicycles.

Disgusting.

And what you also might not know is that bikes are great for bar hopping! Bike-hopping. Bar-biking. Barbecue. Barbie. Sexism. Who are you again?

This is what I did this past weekend with Casey and her roommate. Saturday afternoon Casey and I sojourned out to Pasadena to get her a new bike, since her old bike had flower stickers on the side and no working gears. I was eager to make more use of the one I got this past Channukah. So far I haven't been able to use it much, because I work 11 hours a day and on the weekends I wear a shirt that reads "LAZY FUCK" under all my clothing.

I am happy to report that during this past weekend, not only was I a productive fuck- I was a productive drunk, too! In the morning I biked around town getting groceries and running miscellaneous errands, but once night descended onto the unsuspecting bike lanes of Los Angeles, Casey, her roomie and I took to the streets like ravenous hyenas in search of booze.

On bicycles.

Okay, I know what you're thinking.

     


                            Wheels + Alcohol - Coordination =







But you've got the equation all wrong. It's actually






                                       Wheels + Alcohol - Fucks = 




Taking your bike on a bar excursion is actually wonderful for several reasons. You don't have to look for parking, you don't have to pay for parking (more beer!), your bike is right outside the bar where there's more than enough foot traffic to ward off thieves, and best of all, at no point are you getting behind the wheel of a car with alcohol in your system.

Now, granted that none of us were truly smashed, but bicycling after a few drinks was hardly treacherous. It was actually insanely fun and about as easy to maneuver as any other bikeventure. I admit I had reservations at first. Before the evening began I was certain that one of us would topple over and eat it. But the old mantra about bikes proved true: once you learn, you never forget. Some part of me was convinced we'd regress to five-year-olds once we had booze in our systems. But thinking about it, I don't turn five when I drink. I turn into a sarcastic and overly-emotional thirteen-year-old. And I knew how to ride a bike when I was thirteen.

We planned the evening out right. Biking meant that we had to remain relatively local, so we left Casey's apartment and rode about 20 minutes away to Silverlake. What we chose to do was ride to the furthest point and work back the way we came. The only downside to this plan was the uphill-ness coming back. Fortunately it was not steep at all, and even in my most sober state I just randomly click the gears around like a silly baboon until I find a setting that works.

So where did we go on our magical Tour d' Silverlake?

I'm glad you asked, slightly larger font.

Our first stop was the enchanting 4100 Bar.

Come wearing your finest PJs and/or belly-dancing skirt.

I imagine they had to go with the name "4100 Bar" for fear of what kind of crowd "Sexy Blanket Fort Fun Palace" would attract. But with the low warm lighting, intimate atmosphere, and abundance of tapestries draped from the ceilings and walls, this place promised a lot more intrigue and wonderment than the outside, which is a small black building with some dude grilling carne asada in the parking lot. Drinks ranged from affordable to I'm-a-paid-actor, and the bar played lots of 90s grunge... though I think that's because there was a juke box, in which case the real reason to go is for the odds of striking up a conversation with whoever payed to play five consecutive Nirvana tracks.

A few blocks up on Sunset Blvd. we reached Malo.

Not tu madre's cantina.

Malo was... mas o menos. It was a little more conventional and a lot less dive-y than 4100. It had a trendy lounge sort of feel to it, but Mexican themed. When you put the two together your end up with $12 guacamole and horchata-based mix drinks.  A "nice" bar, but coming from an English major them's fightin' words. Nonetheless I have to say: horchata with rum--?! Next house party I know exactly what two things I'm bringing and not sharing.

Our final liquor pit stop of the evening was Tiki Ti.

AKA my college dorm... both in size and in style.

It's JUST that awesome, you guys. Tiki Ti is a tiki-tiny little bar on border of Silverlake and Los Feliz. It's essentially a Polynesian-looking box filled with wondrous treasures. For starters, I mean, look at that photo. This is what we're dealing with. The whole thing is the size of my apartment, and I live inside a laundry hamper. If you can manage to get your party inside with their tight one-in-one-out entrance policy, you are in for a treat. The walls and ceiling are packed with Pacific Island decorations and knick-knacks, ranging from puffer fish light fixtures to unsettling sociopath-mermaid figurines. You'd think that's the main event, but then they hand you a drink menu. Holy humuhumunukunukuapua'a. It's a list of about 75 different mix drinks with crazy titles and zero descriptions. You have the choice of either asking the bartender or chancing it. Ultimately, no matter which drink I asked about, the little fruity-sugar alcoholic in my head tugged on my earlobe and shrieked, "That one! We're doing that one!" I ended up getting a Chief Lamu Lamu and a Space Pilot, both of which were ten layers of delicious. Be forewarned that Tiki Ti's drinks run in the $9-$20 range apiece, but for a special night out (or a night of generally low inhibitions) this is a place that you have to visit. It's also supposedly one of the oldest bars in LA, so if you need "historical significance" to justify it then be my guest.

After leaving Tiki Ti we made our way home in about 10-15 minutes, where we ate grilled cheese sandwiches with the utmost orderly conduct and self-restraint.

Cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeez

Final verdict: will I bicycle bar hop again? Ab-cycle-utely!

...a bit of a stretch on that one.

Yes, I fully intend to. As long as I'm able to avoid a BUI, which are as real as they are admittedly hilarious.