Black Label Reno is a bicycle gang. A tall bike gang, specifically, which means that they weld together two (or more) frames, and ride around town, causing mayhem by riding really slowly and not dismounting until absolutely necessary.
Unfortunately I missed the Poker Run, and didn't ask my acquaintances at Cyclecide to introduce me before I left, so I had no way of getting in contact with them. Accordingly, there wasn't much for me in Reno.
Reno's an odd town. It's surprisingly clean, yet it feels dirty, at least downtown. Three pawn shops line the street across from the El Dorado, for instance, which isn't really news, and doesn't make a great picture, but was and is still odd to see in person.
Walking around—meandering through the part of Reno that the tourist board wants you to visit—I became more interested in the Reno of 40 or 50 years ago than the Reno of today. Shuddered motels fringe the downtown area, sometimes under construction, sometimes just vacant. Many of them have left their signs lit, buzzing day and night.
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