First date with Клэр

Клэр had sent me a message when I was still in Iceland, and I held it in reserve, not knowing how to respond. She seemed smart, sociable, and outdoorsy, and her introductory message was about bike touring. She would probably make a good friend at the very least. But I just didn't have the time to invest in anyone, with the trip looming.

Several months later when I was back from my trip, I pressed the button that let her know I'd received the message, and gave a response. We had a short, enthusiastic conversation filled with puns and sci-fi references - very promising - and she suggested meeting almost immediately. She was a teacher, and also had a hike planned for the weekend, so the only window she could squeeze me in for was Friday. I didn't know how I stood with romance, but I genuinely wanted to make a new friend, and Клэр seemed ideal. So Friday evening - right after work - I threw on a Hawaiian shirt to look festive and flippant, and rode up to the Jupiter cafe where she wanted to meet.

I was chatty with the staff and a few other patrons as I locked up my bike. I felt like my social skills were slowly coming back to life after the long spans of introspection in the icy fjords. I couldn't spot anyone who looked like Клэр though, so I hunkered down near the front of the restaurant until I got a text.

While my head was down, Клэр walked up to me and introduced herself. She was taller than me, and I suspected she was stooping her shoulders a bit to reduce the effect. I wondered if she did it unconsciously. I tried to recall what her profile had said. Something over six feet. Six-foot-two? She had straight brown hair in a short pixie haircut that I instantly thought was cute as hell, a long chin, and intense, deep-set eyes with laugh lines at the corners. Her long, slender limbs and generous hips concentrated her mass in the center of her body, but she was not overweight. I guessed she was probably average for raw strength but had considerable endurance. I was looking at someone who could probably bicycle rings around me.

We grabbed drinks, then grabbed a table and began talking, and I instantly started having a good time. Just after sitting, Клэр raised her glass to me and said, "cheers to new acquaintances!" I returned the sentiment and we drank. Was she acknowledging that she felt we couldn't make a romantic connection? Or was she just putting us both at ease? I had no idea.

Клэр had an extensive knowledge of science fiction, anime, and all other forms of geek subculture, and was intimately familiar with the Bay Area, from Walnut Creek down to Santa Cruz. She was a local, and some quality of that showed through in her conversation. She was unabashedly goofy when she felt like it, and seemed entirely comfortable in her own skin. She laughed often and it was genuine. Something about her face strongly reminded me of my cousin Teri, and also my cousin Arno. It was around the eyes. I felt like I was catching up with a relative I hadn't seen in years but remembered fondly. "Oh look; it's Клэр -- wow I haven't seen you in ages! Tell me everything!"

Time barreled along. The conversation plunged from a random anecdote about growing up in my home town, to a nuanced inquiry about the nature of long-term memory and how language is reconstructed as technology changes, then over to a joke-filled co-constructed rant about memes and smartphones and generational divides. On the vast majority of first dates I have had to turn the crank of the conversation machine doggedly just to get a couple of interesting topics to fall out, but with Клэр the machine was hurling out so many that my hands were full and they were stacking up in piles on the floor. I'd forgotten what a difference it made -- the choice of conversation partners. It's not just a matter of me, and my mood, and my own level of effort.

Eventually I mentioned that East Bay Bike Party was happening soon. She said that she'd canceled her plans for a weekend camping trip and didn't have to get up early, so she would happily check out Bike Party with me. I knew my nephew would want to come along, and I asked her if she minded. She didn't. We arranged to meet my nephew at MacArthur Bart station and took off.

Along the way she pointed out a tiny metal license plate she'd wired to the rear of her bike. It said: КЛЭР. "It's even spelled the right way. I found it in the grass at a park, about a year ago. Do you have any idea how rare it is for me to find some random thing that has my name on it, spelled correctly? Super rare!"

I laughed. "That's awesome!" I said. "I like how it identifies you in a crowd. I want to shout, 'Follow Клэр, she knows the way!'"

She giggled at that, and we rode on.

It felt effortless, and zero-stakes. More precisely, it felt like dating had felt ten or even twenty years ago, when I always felt like I had plenty of time, and there was plenty to explore, and I didn't need heavy chemistry or to start immediately digging up answers to difficult questions. Клэр had a hundred things going on, and a hundred events to choose from, but she was perfectly secure in chucking them casually aside if the mood took her, and so our first date was spent exploring a chaotic, loud event that she'd never participated in before, with an element of danger, and she took the whole thing in stride and owned it, fitting in even more securely than I did.

Bike Party started with a big gathering of cyclists at a Bart station, drinking and dancing and playing loud music or just hanging around talking shop about bikes. Some of them had elaborate lighting kits, some of them wore costumes. People carried ridiculous things along with them in trailers - pets, boomboxes, coolers, lasers, floor lamps, reclining chairs, other people - just to add to the scene. A guy with a megaphone bellowed out a list of rules and blew a horn, and the whole crowd mobilized and flooded into the street. Клэр rolled right along with it. I was impressed with her adaptability.

She rode alongside me, sometimes ahead or behind, singing along to the music, whooping it up, making jokes, chatting with people around her, and even shouting cycling advice to other riders, warning them of cars and changes in the route. "It's my teacher instinct," she said to me. "I worry about the young people in the crowd." We improvised a call-and-response chant about Bike Party. We danced in the seat of our bicycles, as we drew near each thudding boombox. Клэр sang along with songs she recognized, and occasionally made up silly lyrics to songs that she didn't.

The crowd pulled in at the first rest stop, several miles from the starting point. Клэр and I parked on the bouncy tarmac of a playground, and since a boombox trailer was pulled up nearby, we began dancing to the music. Neither of us were great dancers, I'll admit. But between us, we gave zero shits. We laughed and hopped and wiggled and it was a party of two. Other people crowded onto the tarmac and a full-on rave began. My nephew rolled up and we chatted with him. Клэр asked him a variety of questions, pacing them out and genuinely listening to every response, and pretty soon she had a good conversation going with him too.

Her social position was plain as day to me. She was a nexus. She got to know everyone around her, with a natural ease, and could even start up a connection from scratch with introverts like my nephew and make it look like a coincidence. Even if I didn't end up getting romantic with her, I should keep her close. I liked her style; I liked what she prioritized in life. Even if she didn't know it - and she probably did - she had just won over a new advocate as well as a friend.

The lead bike took off again and everyone hopped aboard and followed. We sang and joked and drifted around together in the crowd. Then the ride got sketchy when a drag-racing car had some kind of confrontation with a cyclist ahead of us, filling the air with smoke. The lead bicycle stopped and the entire party crammed into the street around it, completely blocking the area. People took out phones and began to video everything around them, making sure that whatever happened was on record. Клэр and I stood around confused for a while, then decided to call it a night since it was getting late anyway. I gathered my nephew and we set out together for the nearest Bart. We cruised through a really rough part of town, witnessed a weird slow-motion collision between two people on the Bart escalator, and boarded the train and talked about work, music, and anime shows we liked, sitting close together so we could talk above the noise of the tracks.

My nephew exited Bart early, and Клэр and I rode up a few more stops, so I could linger with her. We got our bikes clear of the station, chatting about the experience of Bike Party and other cycling topics, and suddenly it was the end of our date.

"When do you wanna meet again?" she said.

"I'm not sure," I said. "I have to look after my friend's kids for a few days. We'll definitely figure something out." I honestly hadn't even thought about my future schedule, and was having trouble visualizing it after the sensory overload of the evening.

Клэр paused, and I could sense that she felt a little bit crestfallen, as though she'd been hoping for a more enthusiastic answer. I wondered if I'd read her wrong, and she hadn't intended to friend-zone me immediately with her toast at the beginning of our date, and she was genuinely hoping for a romantic connection.

"There's a San Francisco bike ride tomorrow, across the Golden Gate Bridge, if you want to come along."

"I don't know," I said. "Saturday and Sunday are my one chance to recover from the crazy work week I've been having. Well, okay, my two chances. I have two chances. Amongst my chances are such diverse elements as, Saturday, and Sunday." Клэр laughed but didn't get the reference, so she asked.

"It's a Monty Python joke," I said.

"Ooooh," she said, smiling. "Okay. Well let's hang out again soon. We'll be in touch, yeah?"

"Most definitely!" I said, and rushed forward and grabbed her in an enthusiastic hug, which she happily returned. I felt like blurting out, "Oh Клэр you're the best; I'm sorry we haven't hung out in so long!" But I held my tongue.

Back at the house, I texted her and we had a nice exchange to cap the evening.

"Thanks for a great time!" I said.

"Thanks for a very fun, enjoyable evening. Good night!"

"Very weird, I feel like I've already known you for some time and we just did some catching up. Is that how people usually feel upon meeting you?"

"The feeling is mutual! I'm inclined to say that doesn't happen often. There are only some certain people I can totally relax with and don't feel like I have to put on airs or feign interest. I think it's totally awesome to feel that I have the space to express my silly side. Very much appreciated."

"W00t! I think it was cool how you did this sudden dive deep into linguistic theory right in the middle of a random conversation about memories of my home town."

"That's just how my mind works, I guess!"