I’ve been intending to ride my bike up to the Redhook Brewery for a couple of years now. “It’s an easy ride,” people tell me. “You go, have a beer, and you ride back all relaxed.”The first part turned out to be true. It’s a 22-mile ride from the top of Capitol Hill to Redhook, almost all of it flat and pretty. I’d never been on the Sammamish River Trail, which, with its poplar-lined banks and arched bridges, felt a little European (I guess that’s a good thing). The Redhook Brewery was packed with bikers and beer tourists, and my friend Bob and I ate burgers and salads and had one pint each of Sunrye Ale, feeling like we’d preburned off every calorie. Sure enough, by the end of the meal I was relaxed and ready for the ride home.Instead, it became clear after the first mile that my legs did NOT appreciate the 90 minutes off, and my stomach appreciated even less being stuffed and then asked to jiggle and jolt away while digesting. After about seven miles, my head decided that since I was determined to shed my buzz so quickly it would fast-forward the hangover, too. And, to top it off, Seattle’s meteorologists demonstrated for the second week in a row that they come up with a weekend forecast five days in advance and then refuse to update their predictions, and the sunny Saturday I’d dressed for became a rainy one. That post-ride nap was pretty splendid, though.Later that night I ran into an acquaintance who I’m told does 50-mile rides as easily as I do 20-mile ones. I told him what we’d done, and that I never planned to do it again. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Alcohol and biking don’t mix.”