By Aaron Reichenberger trentsteele007@hotmail.com

This last Saturday, I and my bike gang ("The Hells Satan's",) took to the streets in a bombastic display of awesomeness and all things mountain bikes for a seven hour bike-tour of some of East Portland's finest pubs and outdoor patios in an all day drink-a-thon and hell raising extravaganza. Announcing our presence at every bar by shouting out "Hells Satan's, let's roll!" We struck terror into the hearts of hipsters and hippies alike at every locale we deemed worthy of our attention and patronage.

This much is known to anyone who has ever seen our lineup of Cannondales, Magnas, and Schwinns lined up 7 deep outside of a local tavern: The Hells Satan's are bad ass, and you don't fuck with the Hells Satan's unless you are willing to find out what true pain really is.

Around 9:30pm that night, while en-route to the comfortably nice, but otherwise un-spectacular Rose and Raindrop, the Hells Satan's and I came across a party occurring in a large warehouse in the Southeast part of town. A few of the Hells Satan's knew someone who rented space in the warehouse, so we decided to roll our collective badass selves up to the party and raise a little hell.

At this time I need to define what "raise a little hell" entails when it involves the Hells Satan's. With the Hells Satan's, "raise a little hell" typically means: -Popping some sweet bunny hops on our bikes
-Yelling out sentences which include the words "Hells Satan's" in them
-Pounding IPA's at an impressive rate, and ordering whatever appetizers happen to be on special at whatever bar we find ourselves (and eating tons of tots. The Hells Satan's love fucking tater tots.)
-Disobeying posted traffic signs and the standard rules of the road
-Riding in wicked single file formation, sometimes breaking into a double column when we pass some fool encroaching on our turf, just to let him know that we own this bitch, and defend it with an iron fist of radness.

Now, back to the warehouse party. The party itself was a small, quiet affair (think children running around, and a long table teeming with pot-luck foods and bottles of wine.) It was also soon discovered that the person we knew from the warehouse wasn't even there, so rallying around the cry of "Hells Satan's! We ride!" We hopped on our respective hogs and prepared to leave the scene.

It was at this moment, as I stood ready to depart on my tough ass Cannondale, that I noticed an individual riding around the warehouse on a Segway. (For those not in the know, this is a Segway: www.segway.com) A member of the party, noticing my interest in the Segway, approached me to start up a conversation. It was during this conversation that the warehouse reveler dropped one of the most un-believably awesome pieces of random “what-have-you” that I have ever heard:

"You see that Segway? It used to be Dick Cheney's."

For those of you not in the know, this is Dick Cheney:

For those of you not in the know, this is Dick Cheney's favorite beer:

So, there I was, 15 feet from Dick Cheney's Segway, and it was awesome. A yell of "Hells Satan's!" forced me to leave the scene before I was able to take a spin on it. I can only imagine that if I had ridden on Dick Cheney's Segway that there would have been just the smallest chance that I could have switched places with Dick Cheney for just the briefest of moments, thereby allowing me to use that time to fully shoot myself right in the face.

Hells Satan's, we ride.