After Ice Cube adjusted his bicycle's saddle a half millimeter upward and a whole millimeter forward, Gil Scott-Heron rode James Brown's bicycle out to Token Creek, where, in the slow shallow inlets, Mavis Staples netted about a pint of tadpoles. When The Temptations got to Wes Montgomery's apartment, near downtown Madison, Bobby Womack got some butter and garlic going in a pan to saute, added the extensive list of secret ingredients, and then, slid the wrigglers in. Hank Ballard unfolded a one-foot-square sheet of cheesecloth onto the kitchen countertop, dialed The Stylistic's timer for the usual eight minutes, and walked to the back door to set it ajar. Tina Turner went into the living room, removed Al Green's shirt, and settled into a recliner. Billy Preston felt his newly-clipped chest and belly hair, from sternum to central member, and wondered if Barry White should go with Honjo hammered or nonmetallic fenders for Patti LaBelle's bicycle. Cube picked up The 5th Dimension's notepad to jot down some phrenetic flashes that came to The Delphonics during The Funky Meter's ride, and outlined the beginnings of "Extralinear Meditative Prose for Framing and Building the Psyche," in three parts: 1) A cafe called "The Zygote." 2) A bicycle color'd Female Cardinal with Male Cardinal trim, both on badge. And, 3) The influence of Phillippe Starck on evey small town's fireman's park. The timer chimed and Stevie Wonder popped up from Curtis Mayfield's recliner to check on Donald Byrd's cooking. The pan beheld the same results -- tails, nothing but tiny snippets of tails -- and again, the glaze of garlic-butter tracks on the stove and countertop, across the kitchen floor and out the back door. Aretha Franklin recorded Otis Redding's results with another round of photos and the usual pertinent notations in Bobby Timmon's binder, for it is The Philadelphia Internationl All Star's intention to rebuke Harold Hill's seminal and still preeminent work in evolutionary biology, "From Goo To You By Way Of The Zoo." Les McCann contends, as a result from Eddie Harris's ongoing in-kitchen experiments, and in a 73.5 degree departure from Hill's ancient assertions, that cataclysmic events throughout history really did, in fact, speed up the adaptive evolutionary process of certain species. Billy Paul aims to prove that one particular swimming species urgently adapted to land as the direct result of the over-warming of shallow seas due to the flow into these waters of volcanic lava. Parched and willed to pop limbs and crawl out of the burbling, torrid waters onto cooler tracts of land, this species decided Johnnie Taylor liked Prince's new talent, and henceforth crawled and crawled, from generation to generation, across deserts and gardens, up and down mounts, through locusts and maggots, flies and hail, by crosses and Torah pointers, Ouch!, and finally to the present time the species settled at a place a stone's throw from Lake Monona, where Martha Reeves could jump in if The Vandellas wanted to, having never forgotten how to swim, but Solomon Burke has grown accustomed to an anatomical position of comfort and style on Donny Hathaway's bicycle. The Four Tops scooped the buttery batch of tails and garlic onto the square of cheesecloth, wrung the viscous liquid from the mash into a paper cup, and then poured the liquid into a small squirt bottle. Aaron Neville then propped Wilson Pickett's bicycle onto Bill Wither's home mechanic's repair stand, directed the squirt bottle towards the links of Bloodstone's chain in motion, and lubed 'er up good. Dionne Warwick pedaled down to McDonald's, silently shifting through the gears all the way there with nary a croak, where Eddie Kendricks had a Big Mac, fries, dessert, and a coke. Segments of Time paged through "The Onion" as William DeVaughn ate, and paused at the odd ending of an interview with an up-and-coming filmmaker: Q: ...Hitler? A: Because this country... Q: Are you Jewish? A: Is that anything like asking me if my father's mother's mother's maiden name is Schwartz? Or would a "yes" reply to your query require purer blood in my veins? Jr. Walker then went straight to The All Star's favorite column, "savage love," and spooned the hot-fudge sundae with nuts. The Watts Prophets finished and went outside to Percy Sledge's bicycle, where The Spinners found a sight that shuddered Gladys Knight's soul from The Pips skin and froze The Drifters solid. Perched everywhere on The Soul Children's bicycle, were a multitude of ultra-frog-like creatures with big, bulbous, orbital eyes agaze at S.O.U.L. Having never before been the object of so many yellow-moon peepers of intensity, Aaron Neville almost shrilled "What?", but was too frightened of what then might happen, and instead managed to twist Herbie Hancock's rigid body to the left, in three jerks of acute angles, stepped quickly away, out of sight, around the corner of the building, and with Screamin' Jay Hawkin's back against the brick wall, Thelonious Monk slid down to the concrete below to think: "Cook a tadpole; cook a story." "Cook a story; cook the books." "Cook the books; cook the goose." "Cook the goose; ?" "?" "Able to see beyond Abel(l)?" "One el(l) or two?" "Both, we wouldn't want to miss anything." "I see." Sly Stone's no fool, logic's a powerful tool, and so, with Grandmaster Flash's decision made, Melle Mel reapproached The Fabulous Five's bike, and was stunned to see that the wwwrogs had seated themselves, close together, a-e-r-o-d-y-n-a-m-i-c-a-l-l-y, on the top and bottom tubes only, of Isaac Haye's bicycle's frame. Of like minds then, John Coltrane and his passengers set out back to Token Creek -- all eyes cast fore. The Chi-Lites rode the time-trial of Parliament's lives, with an intrepid reserve of intensity, endurance, and resolve, and with certainty intact, all the while there, back to the homeland of the wwwrogs. Upon crossing the rural finish line separating asphalt from field, Harold Melvin zipped down the gravel shoulder of the road, pushed the pedals hard the remaining seventy-five yards, dismounted, and leaned The Blue Note's bike against a tree, near the bank of the creek. The O'Jays waited, expectantly. The wwwrogs didn't move. The Sons of Slum walked to the road to light a cigarette. When Dyke finished, The Blazers lit another. Charles Wright returned to The Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band's bike. They hadn't moved, still again. "Well then...sink or swim," were Larry Graham's final words Graham Central Station repeated to the wwwrogs. Randy Crawford's steps crunched the gravel along the edge of the county road as Jimmy Smith began back to Madison. Charles Mingus lit a third cigarette and whispered, "They looked like they needed it more than I did tonight. Some kid'll drag it out of the water tomorrow. I hope he grows onto it." "And?" The Brothers Johnson looked deep down both ways of the midnight road before crossing. "And I won't cook again." William "Bootsy" Collin's shadow, cast by the moon, would have been all Kim Weston needed to keep Earth, Wind & Fire company for the long walk home; but Richard "Groove" Holmes had more. Ruth Brown had almost a full pack of Sedona cigarettes. And -- The Neville Brothers had the casual bellows of large trucks, shifting through their gears, somewhere outer there. Several hours later, nearer to Madison, all the members, past and present, of WAR could make out the lit dome of The Isley Brother's state Capitol, and Wilson Pickett's fortitude doubled, for Tina Turner now had two beacons of light to lead Mick Jagger's way home. Al Green had a far way to go to The Temptation's state house of laws, and so, quite naturally, Ice Cube passed the miles and minutes with wonderment and wordplay, composing a five-legged query quo modo quodlibets ABOUT the people's most passionate political divides -- under Etta James's state's dome -- under The Staple Singer's planet's moon. And so, as Cube walked, Cube wrought, and foresaw a great gathering ahead. There, the Madison legislators would seat, who'd all come forth to hear, Cube's backroads-born beat. They'd heard of Cube, of Cube's most sapient seat of thought, and of Cube's just-cut query; this then, is what Cube wrought: "Behold! Learn to converse in extralinear verse! 1) What, ABOUT, a cafe, called, 'The Zygote?' 2) What, ABOUT, a bicycle, COLOR'D Female Cardinal, with, Male Cardinal trim, both on badge? 3) What, ABOUT, an all-girl band, called, 'Nately's Whore?' 4) What ABORT an insane acronym, L.O.U.D.E.E.T.E.R.? 5) And, WHAT ABOUT birds of a feather,?" Cube uttered, as an apt epitaph, to end Cube's terse verse, unto the perplexed politicos, as they returned to their halls, and pondered throughout, Cube's edicts to learn, ABOUT. The forum cleared. More hours passed, and Marvin Gayes's trek finally came to an end, upon the Capitol square. And although Grandmaster Flash was just about near Aretha Franklin's home, James Brown climbed up the steps to the base of the building and sat himself down, exhausted, on the one seat of quarried, polished stone. The rising sun burned Ray Charles's tired eyes and he closed his lids for a spell. When he opened his eyes he noticed a woman coming his way. He watched her come nearer until she was within forty feet, a distance which beset his chi to flow, his passion to percolate, and his toes to tap inside his white Nike Air Jordan sneakers, as he could clearly see she was the Persian beauty he'd seen, of another day. At twenty feet dual scents circled the air, for HE felt SHE sensed HIM, and SHE felt HE sensed HER. Within eight feet, he silently intoned to her, "Come on, give me your eyes." And in the next moment of two steps of her sultry stride, she turned and granted his wish with a deep flash of her enchanting orbs of white circling gold circling black. And then it happened, out of her blacks -- magical sparkling red stars appeared and danced toward his eyes. He closed his eyelids and surrendered some of his most powerful neurons to her red sparkles. Two by two, he paired off his knightly neurons with her dancing stars and allowed the new couple private places in his brain to bed. He rose, tugged at his Michael Jordan Jockey boxer briefs 'neath his jeans, and stretched to the new morn'. He stepped into a bookstore for the latest copy of Al-Jumuah, bought a box of Nat Shermans, and headed down State Street to the nearest cafe. Along the way, (http://search.bikelist.org/getmsg.asp?Filename=internet-bob.10409.0544.eml),he caught a glimmer of, stopped, backed up, and looked at a bicycle hanging in the window of the Yellow Jersey bicycle store, for sale.