Yesterday 'round 3ish, the 7-year-old who lives in my house and I stumbled into the recently reopened Millennium in Deep Ellum, a couple of doors down from Lula B's. And as he sat on the antique exerbike parked outside, a horde of nattily attired cyclists pedaled past, headed down Elm. At which point I was reminded: Oh, right, the Dallas Tweed Ride. We lingered a little while longer, than drove into downtown with the intention of hopping out at Main Street Garden.
But up ahead, the cyclists, joined by more and more and still more riders, slowed traffic. The boy requested we stay behind them till they reached their final destination: Dealey Plaza. We parked next to the Sixth Floor Museum and strolled amongst the riders, at which point Jason Roberts arrived with his bullhorn to lead the hundreds over the Houston Street Viaduct. As we killed some time in the new museum store -- surprisingly empty on the warm Sunday afternoon before the 47th anniversary of Kennedy's killing -- still more riders amassed. Then they took off, and we watched from the window, while one clerk wondered to another, "What the ...?"
Bored, we browsed a few of the West End gift shops for tourists -- forever-going rows of unclever tees and cheapo cowboy hats and wacky branded hot sauces. Pulling out of the lot, we once more saw the tweed-riders up ahead, amassed at Houston Street Viaduct. Again, the boy instructed: Follow. And so we did, parting ways at Zang -- we headed to Lake Cliff Park and the rocket-ship tower (and, later, the Spiral Diner for tea and the St. Ann Cafe for the sunset over the American Airlines Center); they, to Turner House.
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So, Dallas is "exquisitely dull"? Please. We had a whole weekend in three hours. More of our photos of the riders -- and the park and, hell, the sunset -- follow. Only because I never use Facebook for personal bidness.