I'll confess, I was lighthearted on the ride, and though I successfully avoided singing constantly (like I do when on my own), I did get carried away by the sunshine and sing a few times, and talk with the neighbors on occasion. Every time I did I thought about Don, wondered about whether it was appropriate, and stifled feelings of guilt (I'm riding, he's not, more cyclists than anybody would like are similarly not riding).
I tend to struggle in my "regular" life with the misinterpretation of my general (ok, flakey) demeanor as reflecting a lack of seriousness, lack of gravity, lack of will power, lack of ability, so I completely understand and agree with the point you've made. I don't have the opportunity to politely but firmly explain to passing motorists that while I'm smiling, singing, waving, and laughing, I will not surrender my lane, get off the road, buy a car, shrug off our system's apparent disregard for cyclists' rights, or calmly and passively accept motorists' "right" to kill us off one by one with little to no repercussions.
My goals for the ride, though they may not be everyone's goals, were to ride in Don Parker's memory with positive energy, get out in rush hour and in general be seen as a cyclist by motorists, go find out what's up with the DA, and let other cyclists know their numbers include one more. On all accounts, check.
I can promise not to sing or talk on a Ride of Silence, though it may take a mouth guard and duct tape. But while I have breath in my lungs, two working legs, and a bicycle to ride, I refuse under any circumstances for anybody or anything to stifle my joy of riding, especially motorists who may misinterpret my joy for silliness to be dismissed.