A droning violin in Father Hennepin Bluffs park
When you reach mid life, you become more grateful for adventures. Northern Spark gave me one.
Riding my bike from a St. Paul patio party to the downtown Minneapolis riverfront.
The early summer dusk and clouds of bugs along the Mississippi colliding into my face as if it were a windshield.
Arriving at the almost glowing Gold Medal Flour building at nightfall.
Staring at images of familiar yet foreign looking river sights projected onto its massive, undulating silo surface, with shadows of gaping onlookers at the bottom a la Mystery Science Theater 3000.
Being enveloped by throngs of ecstatic people on Stone Arch Bridge who collectively almost rose into the air as the weight of an oppressive winter was lifted from their shoulders.
Following the Egg and Sperm caravan to and fro on the bridge.
Watching grown men try on a sperm hat with the expression of a seven year-old boy donning a twins cap for the first time.
Seeing people step into a booth at Father Hennepin Park and bark, grunt, howl and whisper misunderstood words to the tune of a haunting, droning live violin.
Getting my neighbor's very pleasantly surprised reaction after he visited the Soap Factory for the first time.
Riding my bike down Chicago Avenue at 11:45pm and passing the hospital where my two sons were born.
Checking my watch again at Lake and Hiawatha when a homeless woman asked for the time and noticing it was 12:03 am, June 5th, my birthday.
Oh, and I tweeted for the first time.
See what I mean by adventure?
My route and synopsis of the event was strikingly similar to yours. I however do not have any children and I only thought about tweeting- never went through with it.
I enjoyed the adventure for adventure-sake. The men hurling odd noises into the air over a loud speaker was just simply part of the adventure.
It was good to get out nonetheless.