Celebration Arbutus Greenway July 8

Oh the crème-curdling sound of 10-speeds switching gears, and proletariat families enjoying themselves skirting by the leafy edges of mega-million dollar backyards.
It’s enough to make one involuntarily withdraw that extended pinky, let the dainty rose teacup fall onto the stone terrace and call the police for the disturbance of rarified peace. They just lost their stock portfolio promoters in Victoria to the socialists, now the proles are climbing over the fences, stealing the heritage garden gnomes and flirting with uniformed school girls who get aroused by dangerous, sweaty working class males on bikes.
What’s the blue rinse, ancient diesel Mercedes-driving class to do?