Happy Valentine’s Day Again

George had just made the left turn onto Lakeside Drive. Up ahead was the right turn onto Robin Hood Drive.  Up ahead also, somewhere in hiding at the last house on the left prior to the turn, waited the gathering of dogs that are always eager to get the adrenaline flowing inside any cyclist who dares to penetrate their self-proclaimed domain. George knows, no matter how much he attempts to cycle in “stealth mode,” those dogs will sense him approaching and give him a good run for his money. And there was no reason for him to expect anything different today.

George and his bike were making no noise whatsoever as they pedaled within range of the property – well, unless you take into consideration the sound of George’s heart beating loudly inside his chest. Then sure enough, with less than a hundred feet to go, the silence of the afternoon was shattered with the abrupt commencement of half-a-dozen yapping dogs making a dash across the yard in a trajectory that would have them intercepting George at precisely the point where he would need to slow slightly to make that right turn. Unable to see around the dense growth of trees at that location, George just prayed that there would be no cars approaching from the north because he knew he would be swinging wide and fast.

As he got closer to the corner, George knew it was going to be a close call. Those dogs were really on their game today. As George began the lean to make the turn, the pack of dogs crossed the drainage ditch and hit the pavement. They were going to be on top of him at any second. George zipped around the corner – being able to see far enough up the road to confirm that there were no approaching vehicles; he stood up on the pedals and gave it everything he had. The dogs were giving it everything they had also – right up until the point where all at once one of them started yelping in an entirely different manner than that of actively chasing an intruding cyclist. It was more like the yelp of it being the attacked rather than being the attacker. George could immediately sense that the game had drastically changed behind him. The barking of the dogs was quickly beginning to fade, indicating to George that they had decided to forsake the chase.

George pedaled a few more feet down the road, then coasted and cranked his head around to take a look behind. At the precise moment that George was able to focus in the distance on the dogs all headed for the safety of their front porch, his vision was immediately drawn downward just as an alligator was leaping up off of the pavement and snapping at the rear wheel of his bicycle.

“WHAT THE… !” exclaimed George, as he tried frantically to get his feet once again spinning the pedals with full force. “Where in blazes did an alligator come from?”

In a split second, George had picked the pace up to over twenty-five as he wound his way along Robin Hood Drive – the alligator always within ten to fifteen feet behind him. Several local residents were out working in their yards; children were playing in their driveways or near the edge of the road. George started shouting out warnings, “Watch out! Get back! There’s an alligator coming!” Every few yards or so, the alligator would lunge again and snap at George’s rear wheel.

George was coming up on the intersection at Joseph Road. For the last couple of blocks, the alligator had been closing the gap and George could feel the alligator’s breath on his ankles each time it snapped at his wheel. In hopes to increase the gap, George made the split-second decision to make the hairpin left turn onto Joseph Road. Swinging wide and without slowing at all, George ran off the road on the far side of Joseph only slightly as he made the turn but quickly got his tires back up on the pavement. The alligator was quick to see what George was up to so it veered diagonally off-road through an empty lot on the left prior to the intersection in order to intercept George after he had made the left turn. (Obviously a little trick it had learned from watching the dogs.) As the alligator was scurrying across the lot, a groundhog poked its head up out of its hole to see what the commotion was all about. It quickly dove back down just as the alligator came trampling overhead. George was heading west on Joseph Road, once again pounding the pedals in the fiercest of all sprints. Just as the alligator was leaping across the drainage ditch to land on the asphalt right at George’s precise location…

SPLAT!

An eastbound garbage truck flattened the alligator right there on Joseph Road.

----------------------------

It was about 5:15 pm when George rolled his bicycle into the garage then walked on into the house. Louise, his wife, was in the kitchen watering the plants on the window sill.

“Oh my God, you are not going to believe what happened to me on my bike ride today,” started in George. He then proceeded to tell the story in great length and detail – the dogs, the alligator, the garbage truck – blow by blow; turn by turn. Louise listened tentatively and didn’t interrupt or say a word until George finished with, “So what’s for dinner?”

“What’s for dinner?” echoed Louise. “What do you mean, what’s for dinner? Aren’t you taking me out for dinner tonight?”

“Am I supposed to take you out to dinner tonight?’ questioned George.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, George. You always take me out to eat on Valentine’s Day.”

“That’s today?”

“Are you kidding me? You forgot that today was Valentine’s Day?

“I’m sorry. Yes, I guess I did. I mean, it’s not like it’s a major holiday – like your birthday or Christmas or something.”

With that remark, Louise threw the watering can, still half full of water, at her husband.  Not expecting such a response, it caught George off guard and hit him square in the forehead with the spout jabbing into his right eye. Louise reached into the sink and grabbed a coffee cup and threw that at him too. George was able to step aside in time and the cup smashed against the wall behind him. As he turned to look at the shattered coffee cup, Louise quickly threw a second cup that caught him smack dab on the side of his head, leaving a big gash across his cheek. She threw a wet dishtowel at him. She threw a spatula. She grabbed the sponge that had been lying in a pan full of bacon grease and she threw that him. She threw the pan at him too.

“Good grief,” thought George, as he was trying to avoid the onslaught of projectiles, “why didn’t I do the dishes from breakfast this morning before I went on my bike ride?”

“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU FORGOT VALENTINE’S DAY!” shouted Louise then she stormed off into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

Obviously George was not having a good day and more than likely he did not…

Enjoy the Ride!

You've just read Part Three of
The Groundhog Pentalogy: 

   Riding with Phil

   Happy Valentine’s Day

   Happy Valentine’s Day Again

   Franklin, George and Lawrence Go for a Ride

   Cycling with Hector and Maria

      Epilogue

      Or Maybe the Epilogue Went Like This...

      The REAL Epilogue

Happy Valentine's Day

Franklin had worked through lunch and then left his office three hours early on February 14^th – right at two o’clock. It was a beautiful day for mid-February. The skies were clear and the sun had warmed the temperatures to a fabulous 78 degrees by noontime. What cyclist could pass up an opportunity for a bike ride on a day like this?

After pulling into his driveway, Franklin was a blur as he rushed through the house and into his bedroom where in a matter of seconds his work clothes had been replaced by his cycling clothes. In a non-stop motion, he cruised through his kitchen to fill his water bottles, grabbed his cycling shoes and helmet off the shelf in his laundry room, took his bike off the rack and aired up the tires then punched the code on the garage door keypad and zipped down the driveway and out of his subdivision. Destination: some point about fifteen miles away.

While Franklin was riding up the main boulevard that leads from his subdivision to the Farm to Market road that will take him to the rural countryside, he came up behind a couple, a man and woman, who were also out riding their bicycles. He slowed a bit to say hi as he passed and then he recognized the woman as one of the workers at the Subway sandwich shop near his office.

“Hey! Do you live around here?” he asked, slowing a little more to ride at their pace. “My name is Franklin. I come into your Subway once or twice a week.”

“Oh hi!” she replied. “Yes, I recognize you. I’m Maria and this is my husband Hector.” Then as she points to the right turn a few hundred yards ahead, “We live just a couple of blocks down that road. We’re just finishing up a little ride and then Hector has to get ready for work. He works the night shift at the steel plant over by the airport.  We try to ride at least three days a week before he goes to work. We usually ride about ten miles – today we did twelve. We’re not real fast. Probably not as fast as you but we’re getting better.”

As they approached their turn she paused long enough for Franklin to be able to say, “Well, nice to run into you. Maybe we can ride together some time since we live so close to each other.”

As they made their right turn, Maria shouted, “Yeah that would be fun. We can talk about it next time you’re in the shop.” They waved over their shoulders as Franklin continued straight.

“Hmmm,” he thought to himself. “I wonder if Hector ever gets a chance to speak.”

About five miles further, Franklin  came to FM-2920, where he makes his usual left turn. There’s a traffic light at the intersection. It was red. Franklin pulled into the left turn lane, came to a stop and waited for the light to turn green.

As he was waiting he heard the sounds of drums coming from somewhere off to his left. He turned to look. With squinted eyes, he focused on the distant sight of someone sitting on the side of the road playing a set of drums. Inside his brain, the thought, “Well that’s not something you see every day.”

The light turned green and Franklin  headed to the far side of the intersection and settled into the westbound shoulder. He maintained a slower than usual pace as he neared the young man playing the drums. It was a full set of drums – cymbals and everything. Franklin came to a stop about ten feet away from him and watched and listened for a while.  The guy was good. No idea why he was there though – on the shoulder of this fairly busy four lane road with basically no foot traffic at all. He thought maybe he should offer a tip but he only had a debit card and a twenty dollar bill. The kid was good, but not that good! Franklin clipped into his pedals and headed on down the road – the sounds of the drums ultimately fading into the distance behind him.

Within about six more miles, Franklin  was approaching the turnoff to one of his favorite, local stretches of road. It was the kind of road where the trees on each side grew up and over, forming a series of tunnels. There were no shoulders and the road had deep ditches on each side – usually at least partially full of water. For some reason Franklin had always envisioned alligators inhabiting the drainage ditches – even though he never saw one to give him any reason to think that they were actually there. But, he just figured if you had to have a thought in your head about the drainage ditches on each side of one of your favorite roads, it might as well include something to do with alligators living there too. At the end of the tunnel section, Franklin crossed the railroad tracks and navigated the S-turns past the acreages where the horses seem to always line up at the white board fences to watch him ride by.

From there, it was a series of two-lane roads meandering through rural countryside – past acreages with dwellings ranging from mobile homes to luxurious two and three story mansions. Mom and Pop businesses ranging from grocery stores, to welding shops – from furniture restoration shops to trailer sales and all the way to establishments resembling permanent garage sales. Zoning ordinance freedom at its finest! And, except for the occasional diesel burning dually driver deciding to gun it just as he passes, sending out a cyclist-engulfing cloud of black, it was another one of those stretches of road that Franklin had classified as “favorite.”

As he reached his turn-around point, fifteen miles from home, someone had placed an old, well-worn couch out on the roadside. A hand painted sign was propped up against it advertising that the couch was FREE! Franklin slowed to make the u-turn and head back home. He glanced back over at the couch as he turned and there, tucked into the corner near the left arm and back cushion, was a groundhog - asleep. A thought-replay came on inside Franklin’s brain, “Well that’s not something you see every day.”

For the most part of the return trip, Franklin had a favorable wind which helped it to be a quicker journey than the outbound one. There were no alligators – as usual. There was no Maria, no Hector. The guy playing the drums was gone. Even most of the horses had left their stations along the expanse of white board fence.

Arriving back at his house, Franklin put his bike on its rack and returned his helmet and shoes to their shelf in the laundry room. He took the water bottles to the kitchen sink, rinsed  them out and wiped the road grit off with the sponge. He then went to take a shower and change into some clean clothes. About thirty minutes later, he glanced at the clock and figured that his girlfriend would probably be getting home from work. While looking at the bouquet of flowers that he had bought for her, he picked up his phone and pressed her speed dial number.

“Hey Sugar, Happy Valentine’s Day! I made the reservation for seven thirty at our favorite Italian restaurant...”


Enjoyed the Ride - Enjoy the Evening!


You know, there are four other parts to
The Groundhog Pentalogy: 

   Riding with Phil

   Happy Valentine’s Day

   Happy Valentine’s Day Again

   Franklin, George and Lawrence Go for a Ride

   Cycling with Hector and Maria

      Epilogue

      Or Maybe the Epilogue Went Like This...

      The REAL Epilogue

Riding with Phil

Phil called me on the phone the other day and asked if I wanted to go bike riding with him. I told him that it sounded like a good idea and to come on over. Then he asked me what I thought about taking out my tandem. Now – Phil does have his own bike but it is rather small with tiny wheels, somewhere around six inches in diameter or something. He has to pedal like crazy and he still can only manage to do four, maybe five miles per hour. All this is mainly on account of Phil having really short legs. Phil has really short legs mainly on account of him being a groundhog. Phil is THE Phil of Punxsutawney Phil fame, a job he has held since 1998. He actually lives in Houston but travels to Pennsylvania in late January for the Groundhog Day festivities.

So anyway, when Phil asks me what I think about taking out the tandem, I am almost always in agreement. Correction – I am always in agreement. There were a couple of times – right after Phil got his bike – when he insisted that we each ride our own bikes. Well, you do the math:  forty mile bike ride; four miles per hour – tops; trying not to hit a 15-pound fur ball spinning like crazy on a bicycle with six inch diameter wheels. “Sure Phil, let’s take the tandem!”

As Phil was heading over to my house, I rigged up the “groundhog stoker kit” to the back seat area of the bike. This apparatus is simply a clamp-on chainring and set of pedals mounted above the normal stoker chainring and connected via an additional chain running vertically. They’ve been around for years for parents who want to take their smaller children riding on the back of the tandem but whose legs are not long enough yet to reach the normal stoker pedals. I discovered that it just takes a slight bit of additional modification to get those stoker kits to accommodate the extra short legs and ridiculously weird feet of a groundhog – along with a couple of extensions for the pedals which help to keep the chainring from completely “sawing” the groundhog in half right down the middle. But let’s not get into the technical stuff here in this article.

In short order, there we were, Phil and I riding the tandem down the road on an absolutely beautiful day. In almost no time, we were out of the city traffic and cruising down one of our favorite, tree-line rural roads – enjoying the ride and each other’s company. Up to that point, our conversation had primarily consisted of catching up on the latest tedious goings-on since we’d last seen each other. Once that was out of the way, we were free to dive headfirst into one of our more meaningful, thought-provoking, and deepest of deep confabulations. In due course, the confabulation steered itself to Phil’s job – Groundhog Day weather prediction.

“You do know,” he started, “it hasn’t always been a groundhog that was employed to foresee the mid-winter forecast.”

“You don’t say,” I replied. “I had no idea.”

“It's true, back in the very beginning, 70 million years or so ago, a velociraptor was used.”

I commented, “Based on what I know about velociraptors, that sounds a tad dangerous if you ask me.”

“Oh, indeed it was,” confirmed Phil. “On that very first February 2^nd Velociraptor Day, the townspeople all gathered around as the mayor opened the cage door to let the velociraptor out to check for its shadow… well, it was total devastation. Somewhere around eighty percent of the townsfolk were slaughtered right there on the town square. It was a bloody mess. It took the local National Guard the better part of the rest of the day to get the velociraptor back into its cage and a week to clean up the carnage.”

“It does sound like quite a disaster.” We stopped for a moment at a flashing red light, waited for oncoming traffic to pass, then rode on across the intersection. Phil continued with his story.

“Anyway, that went on for about 2000 more years before they finally gave up on using the velociraptor. In fact, the ritual celebration just basically died out until around the mid-1300’s. At that time they decided to call February 2^nd Alligator Day. Unfortunately, the last Alligator Day was held in February of 1391 when it was observed that at least ninety percent of the human population was missing a leg or an arm or two. Once again the ritual came to a halt.

“About 40 years later, someone came up with the bright idea to quit using flesh-eating creatures to look for their shadow on February 2^nd in an attempt to predict exactly how much winter would be left to endure. So the decision was made to use a human being and thus stop all of the February 2^nd bloodshed. The mayor assigned a team to find an infant in time for the first Person Day to be held on the 1432 February 2^nd. Lo and behold, they stumbled across royalty in a neighboring land who were willing to give up their son for the newly assigned task – their son, the Prince of Wallachia, Vlad III.  Unfortunately, after a few years, that also turned sour as February 2^nd became known as Vlad the Impaler Day.

“This whole let’s-try-to-predict-how-much-winter-is-left-this-year plan really took its toll on generation after generation for way longer than it should have. Once, somewhere in the late 1600’s, the mayor at the time, in an effort to once again revive the festivities – but at the same time wanting to steer clear of any further bloodshed – declared February 2^nd as Sponge Day. I think it was actually 1666 – the only day that Sponge Day ever existed – and the last year for that mayor to hold office. To this day, the sponge has never once even poked its head out the door to check for its shadow.

“In the 1700’s, the Germans decided to use candles – which for some reason someone thought would work better than a sponge! They called it Candlemas Day.

          For as the sun shines on Candlemas Day, 

          So far will the snow swirl until May. 

          For as the snow blows on Candlemas Day, 

          So far will the sun shine before May.

“Apparently that made perfect sense – basically because no one died – so Candlemas Day stuck around until 1886 – the year of the Great Candle Epidemic. With candles in short supply, the decision was made to start using groundhogs – an obvious replacement! And so, on February 2^nd in 1887, the first pilgrimage to Pennsylvania was made to see the first Punxsutawney Phil make his appearance to predict the end of winter. And on that day, he saw his shadow – predicting six more weeks of winter. And Punxsutawney Phils have been doing it ever since – with an amazing accuracy of thirty nine percent."

I replied, “Thirty-nine percent, heh? I think that’s better than our local meteorologists.”

“Yep,” confirmed Phil.

We slowed the tandem to a stop at another intersection. We both took a moment to get a drink of water and munch on the PB&J’s that I had prepared for our ride. We did a quick leg-stretch then pedaled on across the intersection and down the road. It’s always amazing what you can learn on a bike ride with a friend.

Enjoy the ride!   

Be sure to read ALL of
The Groundhog Pentalogy: 

   Riding with Phil

   Happy Valentine’s Day

   Happy Valentine’s Day Again

   Franklin, George and Lawrence Go for a Ride

   Cycling with Hector and Maria

      Epilogue

      Or Maybe the Epilogue Went Like This...

      The REAL Epilogue

Bicycle Microwave Oven Two

I want a bicycle that’s an expert at ventriloquism -

Throw its voice to the bicycle under the cyclist behind me.

I want a bicycle with a camouflaged paint job -

For those occasions when I don’t want folks to find me.

I want a bicycle that won’t laugh at me.

Although, laughing with me will be okay.

I want a bicycle that doesn’t have a taste for artificial bananas.

(I’ve heard that’s a leading cause of chainring decay.)

I want a bicycle that likes to lie on the beach

And maybe take up bike surfing as a hobby.

I want a bicycle with a good disposition

One that’s not too vain or too snobby.

I want a bicycle that’s as cute as my spouse.

(I know that one might be a tough bill to fill.)

I want a bicycle that can hop like a rabbit

At the exact moment I’m about to take a spill.

I want a bicycle that can predict the weather.

One that knows to turn around if it’s heading towards rain.

I want a bicycle with a supply of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches

And a little sign that says: NO PAIN – NO GAIN.

I want a bicycle with teeth like a piano.

I want a bicycle that doesn’t have too much fur.

I want a bicycle with its own ZIP code.

I want a bicycle that goes down the road like a blur.

I want a bicycle with a unicorn horn.

I want a bicycle that used to belong to a mayor of a town in Maine.

I want a bicycle that doesn’t reek of cod liver oil.

I want a bicycle that knows how to raise some Cain.

I want a bicycle with a microwave oven

And a waffle iron so I can fix breakfast for my friends.

I want a bicycle with a soft paisley footstool

Just in case I need to stretch out my thighs and my shins.

I want a bicycle that suffers with issues of abandonment

So it’ll never stray very far from my side.

I want a bicycle that is ready at a moment’s notice

To hit the road and be eager to

Enjoy the Ride!


(Missed Part One? - Then just click here.)

Bicycle Microwave Oven

I want a bicycle with a microwave oven

And a waffle iron so I can fix breakfast for my friends.

I want a bicycle with a soft paisley footstool

Just in case I need to stretch out my thighs and my shins.

I think my bicycle could really use some dinosaur bones,

A mouthpiece from the trumpet of Louis Armstrong,

A couple of random office supplies from the desk of an Admin Assistant.

All this just to somehow help me pedal along.

I want a bicycle that knows that knowledge is power

And maybe I won’t have to pedal it with such great force.

I want a bicycle that I can ride in Utah

Where it’s illegal to fish from the back of a horse.

I want a bicycle with a pink flamingo on the handlebars

And hopefully the thing won’t be infested with ants.

I want a bicycle that knows how to wiggle its ears

And if I need it, give me a good kick in the seat of my pants.

I want a bicycle with a basket on the back for my cat

Made out of LEGO’s from that store in downtown Chicago.

I want a bicycle with a maid who will cook my waffles

And her husband will be the gardener - we’ll call him Santiago.

I want a bicycle with a huge, expansive front yard of Bermuda grass

Just so we can give Santiago something to do.

I want a bicycle that can walk up stairs and

While we’re at it, be able to walk up the down escalator too.

I want a bicycle that can catch foul balls at Minute Maid Park.

I want a bicycle that cleans itself at the end of each month.

I want a bicycle that can trim its own fingernails.

I want a bicycle that can think of a word that rhymes with “month.”

I want a bicycle that has dined with Jimmy Carter.

I want a bicycle that knows how to dream.

I want a bicycle that can walk like an Egyptian.

I want a bicycle that can make cookie dough ice cream.

I want a bicycle with a microwave oven

And a waffle iron so I can fix breakfast for my friends.

I want a bicycle with a soft paisley footstool

Just in case I need to stretch out my thighs and my shins.

The Friendly Race

Most times, I set out on a bike ride just to escape – be one with my thoughts – not really expecting anything out of the ordinary to happen at all.  A few evenings ago, I had exactly one of those kind of times – just me and my bike heading down FM-2920.

FM-2920 between Spring and Tomball has four lanes of fairly fast traffic – but it also has some very wide shoulders and, for the moment, it has some nice long stretches between traffic signals. Typically the shoulders are free of debris. So, except for the occasional motorized vehicle that invades my comfort zone while it makes a last-second right turn directly in front of me, it’s not a bad escape route out of the north part of the big city – and a good area to run across other like-minded cyclists quite often.

But back to a few evenings ago…  I was heading west and just approaching the north end of Hooks Airport when I caught a glimpse in my rear view mirror of a rider, still far behind me, seemingly approaching with a great amount of speed. I glanced down to check my own speed – 17 miles per hour.  Maybe I’ll just kick it up a notch.

I wound my way through the detoured lanes of the construction where the new toll road will cross – the newest section of our Grand Parkway – hitting the light green, I was able to keep my speed right at eighteen. Once through all of that and a few hundred yards beyond, I glanced in my mirror – the traffic light had brought my pursuer to a temporary halt. Standing up on my pedals, I picked it on up to twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Let’s see if he can catch me now.

I hit the slight downhill of FM-2920 and coasted a bit with my computer showing my speed right at twenty-four. Took a quick check in my mirror. Sure enough – he’s still back there – and rapidly gaining on me. I looked in my mirror again – taking a few seconds to try and focus on the approaching rider. Although I couldn't really make out much detail, he seemed to be a pretty big guy. Now, I wasn’t on a real steep downhill but his size would still give him an advantage and he was already zeroing in on me with considerable speed. I put everything I had into my pedals and by the time the road leveled out I was steady at 30 mile per hour. Another look in my mirror. Back at the road in front of me. Back to the mirror. The road. The mirror. Each time the rider behind me was appearing closer and bigger. And I really mean BIGGER!

The traffic lights were being kind to me – each one green as I made my way down the road. I had only slowed to 27 but I had accepted the fact that this guy was going to catch me. Another glance to the mirror—what? Wait a minute. Although the reflection was dark and still not very clear, it was obvious that it was too big to be just one big guy chasing me. It kinda looked like maybe it was two big guys – on a tandem. No wonder they were approaching me with the force of a locomotive! With just a couple of miles to go before I would make the right turn on FM-2978, I relaxed a bit and slowed to 25 – which was waaaaay faster than I even needed to ride but I didn’t want to appear too wimpish when these guys blew past me and left me in their dust.

With a steady pace, I reached down to grab my water bottle. Took about four long drinks – silently cursing myself when I realized that I had ridden eleven miles already without a single drink of water. I usually try to drink every five miles. I put the water bottle back in the downtube cage. I could sense the tandem riders right on my tail. Returning my hand to the handlebars I shifted my gaze back to my rear view mirror. Nothing. And by nothing, I mean nothing – completely black! I was riding into the sun so it shouldn’t have been black in my rear view mirror. I turned my head slightly to the left, looking back over my shoulder. I could just barely see the front wheel of the tandem. I could hear the heavy breathing of the riders. My body could actually sense their approach. Strangely enough though, it felt more like the sensation of an approaching eighteen-wheeler – not two big guys on a tandem. Not knowing how else to explain it, as every hair on both of my arms started standing on end, I was getting the distinct feeling that something was very, very wrong on the shoulder of FM-2920 that evening. I didn’t even have to glance in my mirror. I could feel that there was nothing in it but blackness.

Three maybe four seconds later (which actually seemed more like days), the tandem was pulling up beside me. But really, it was more like a massive darkness completely enveloping me. Usually at this point, I’m ready to turn and greet my fellow rider(s) with a cheery, “How ya doin’?” or something similarly Texan. But on that day and at that particular moment, my body was so petrified with fear I couldn’t get anything to move except my legs on those pedals. All at once I heard a bellowing voice split the tense silence with, “On your left.”

It was at that exact moment I was snapped back into the familiar, friendly world of cycling and I turned my head to the left and said, “Thanks. How ya d—." Instantly my mouth froze in a wide open position and my eyes popped so far out of my head that they knocked my sunglasses off. The hairs on my arms, that for a split second had started to once again relax, completely bailed on me and fell to the roadside. All at once I had found myself within arm’s reach of the biggest – hairiest – blackest – hairiest (oh, I already said hairiest, didn’t I?) – baddest looking spider I had ever seen in my life.

I kid you not.

This spider was huge. Its body was perched across both seats of the tandem – its four legs on the pedals just a-pedaling like crazy – two legs on the back handlebars and two legs on the front handlebars. The top of this spider’s head was towering over me – at least ten feet above the surface of the road. And there we were – side-by-side – cruising down the shoulder of FM-2920 at 25-or-so miles per hour - me and the overgrown hairy spider on a tandem. For a moment I was at a loss for words so I just decided to carry on with the sentence I had already started.

“So – how ya doin'?”

“Not bad,” replied the spider. “It’s an awesome day for a ride.” He flashed a huge spider smile and then said, “Catch you later.” He then pedaled on down the road and turned right at FM-2978. I slowed to seventeen.

*********   *********   *********

You know – most times, I set out on a bike ride just to escape – be one with my thoughts – not really expecting anything out of the ordinary to happen at all.  Sometimes I just ride and find myself wondering. Wondering things like what it really means when a gigantic spider on a tandem says to you, “Catch you later.”

Enjoy the ride!

Cycling with Kris

The snow was piled three feet high on both sides of the road that led from Bugstussle’s General Store back to Sidney’s and  Kris’ workshop – a five-mile journey that predominately followed the banks of Clement Moore Creek – a creek which was predominately covered with a good fifteen-or-so inches of ice this time of year. Neither the snow, nor the ice, nor the time of year did little to stop Sidney and Kris from their daily ritual of racing their bicycles into town for supplies and then back to the shop. Even on those days when they didn’t really need any supplies, they would make up some story to tell their wives that would allow them to escape and to let off a little steam, enjoy some fresh air and, for just those few moments, set their normal work obligations aside.

Sidney Carpenter was employed at the Kris Kringle Christmas Workshop just outside the city limits of North Pole. Coincidental to his surname, he was the Chief Carpenter – and partner, albeit only a forty percent partner. The sixty percent portion belonged to Kris – only because it was mostly his inheritance that provided the investment capital that purchased the land and the building that was now the hustle-bustling industry that manufactured toys for children around the world. But aside from the offset percentage of the business, Sidney and Kris were equals in every other respect. They were born just a few hours apart at the same hospital in the center of North Pole; had the same teachers from Kindergarten through 12th grade (okay – mainly because there was only one teacher in North Pole for about forty years in a row!); took the same mail order college courses majoring in business administration; and, of course, grew up together riding their bicycles in the snow and along the frozen banks of the Clement Moore Creek. It was only fitting that on that Wednesday afternoon back on the 17^th of February in 1802, sitting at the lunch counter of ol’ man Dicken’s Drugstore, those same two young lads, with their brand-spanking-new college degrees and with pencils and a stack of napkins in hand, sketched out an entire business plan for a factory that manufactured  toys year-round and then devised an amazing shipping program that would distribute the entire lot to children around the world – during one single evening. It was an undertaking that no one had ever tackled before.

Ever since Sidney could remember, he had a knack for building things. No scrap of wood was ever wasted around him – it was easily transformed into a toy or some useful object. Because of this knack, he was the obvious choice for the position of Chief Carpenter. Kris was the one that had always been good at numbers and organization, so figuring out how much of what to build and who gets what and where it all goes was left up to him. Manpower around North Pole wasn’t an issue – not since the short-lived Ice Factory closed down. We won’t need to go into a lot of detail about that ill-fated venture other than to say that the guys that sketched THAT idea out on napkins had some pretty bad lettering skills and all of their 9’s looked like 4’s and their 8’s were sloppy and easily mistaken for 3’s. So as it turned out, when they had their factory built, all of the ceilings were hideously low which forced them to advertise for workers of a slightly smaller stature than the average North Pole resident. Fortunately these working conditions were ideal for Elves worldwide who felt lost inside average-sized structures and they migrated by the trainload to North Pole. Unfortunately they were all unemployed and drawing welfare within a year after relocating. Fortunately Sidney and Kris were up and running strong by the summer of 1803 and the Elves were all gainfully employed and once again singing-while-they-worked twenty hours a day building toy after toy after toy and preparing for a Christmas Eve delivery.

But the real genius behind Kris’ and Sidney’s operation was in the Shipping and Distribution Department. Both had been avid cyclists since they were in their elementary years of school and they were both on the cyclo-cross and mountain bike race teams in high school. Because of this, they easily recognized the reliability and efficiency of the human-powered two-wheeled machine. Realizing that they would be required to make thousands of deliveries over the course of one night, speed was obviously going to be crucial. Since there had also been several non-Elves laid off by the Ice Factory, they were hired and trained to race bicycles. Sidney devised a gearing system to drastically increase the speed of their race bikes as well as a harness which would link twenty of them together. With twenty super-fit cyclists pulling a sleigh full of toys, there should be no problem making all of the deliveries in one single night.

And for twenty-two years, there wasn’t.

Friday – December 23, 1825 – 6:24 pm – a cold, bleak, biting Eve of Christmas Eve (In other words, to get back to the beginning of our story…)

Sidney and Kris rounded the last curve alongside Clement Moore Creek – Kris riding low on the inside to get the edge on Sidney and sprint ahead just in time to make the left turn at the entrance to the factory. As they raced up the drive and towards the Sleigh House, they saw Clyde Cratchit standing at the opened door – a bewildered look on his face and a limp bicycle tube in his hands.

“Couple a-the derndest things I ever seed,” drawled Clyde as Sidney and Kris rolled on in through the doors.

“What happened?” asked Kris.

“Busted valve stem. Snapped right plum off at the base,” replied Clyde.

As Sidney walked over to the supply cabinet at the back of the Sleigh House he said, “That happens now and again Clyde. No big deal – I’ll just grab a spare tube.”

“Well now, Mister Sidney, that there’s one a-them derndest things I was a-referrin’ to. Ain’t jest this one tube with the busted valve stem. Outta the forty wheels on the drive bikes, twenty-nine a-thems got busted valve stems. Snapped right plum off at the base.”

“HEY! There aren’t any spare tubes in the cabinet!”

“That there’d be the other derndest thing I was a-referrin’ to Mister Sidney.”

Now, changing 29 tubes in less than a day wouldn’t necessarily be labeled as an impossible task in any way, shape or form. It would definitely help the situation though if there were at least some spare tubes in the supply cabinet. Chalk that up to some sort of a major glitch in the min-max levels of their inventory program. The real kicker in this situation: Vic, the owner of the North Pole Bike Shop closed at noon earlier in the day so he could catch the two o’clock train out of town – spending the holidays with his daughter and grandkids down in Tacoma. Things were looking a fairly deep, dark shade of gloomy.

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Several hours later, Sidney and Kris were sitting at the kitchen table – pencils in hand and with a stack of napkins. Trying their best to come up with a plan – but nothing. Earlier, Mrs. Kringle had cooked a couple of TV dinners and had prepared a huge pot of coffee. She knew that the guys were in for a long, long night of brainstorming.

“Anything yet?” questioned Kris.

“Still a blank,” responded Sidney – elbows on the table with his arms supporting his head – eyes and forehead sunk deep into the palm of his hands.

Looking at the clock on the wall, Kris wearily announced, “Man, it’s nearly five AM. I’ve got to get some sleep. I’m supposed to hit the road in about ten hours.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll come up with something before you need to leave. Go on to bed – I’ll see you when you wake up.”

Kris got up, took his dishes over to the sink then, just before he tossed the plastic dinner tray in the garbage can, said, “You know one thing that puzzles me?”

“What’s that?”

“Why do they call these things TV dinners?”

Saturday – December 24, 1825 – 2:04 pm – a cold, biting, but sun-shiny Christmas Eve

“About danged time you got your lazy hiney out of bed!” kidded Sidney as Kris staggered down the stairs into the living room.

Kris, tossing his bright red coat across the back of the couch, walked toward the kitchen door and replied, “I couldn’t figure out what to wear. Is there any coffee?”

“Get your coffee and meet me and Clyde out in the Sleigh House. You’re gonna love this!”

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“What the heck!” cried out Kris as he entered the Sleigh House – stopping dead in his tracks – eyes fixed on his sleigh parked just beyond the ear-to-ear grins on the faces of Sidney and Clyde.

“Whaddya think?” inquired Sidney.

Kris slowly took in the entire view of the Sleigh House – from one side to the other. There, leaning against the left wall, were the twenty bikes with their multitude of flat tires and all the rigging. As he scanned towards the right, his sleigh – all loaded down with the evening’s delivery. Continuing to scan to the right and in front of the sleigh was the new drive train—and of all the unlikely things – eight reindeer!

“I’m a little confused,” shuddered Kris. “I mean – I have no doubt that these reindeer can pull my sleigh but – there’s no way that they can maneuver through the streets as fast as our twenty bicycle riders.”

To which Clyde was quick to respond, “Mister Kris, this here be one of the most derndest things I ever have seed. THESE HERE BABIES CAN FLY!”

Saturday – December 24, 1825 – 3:03 pm – a cold… mostly just cold, Christmas Eve

Kris climbed aboard the toy-laden sleigh and Mrs. Kringle handed him a thermos of coffee. Sidney and Clyde tightened the straps across the bags of packages on the back of the sleigh. The Elves and the twenty (soon to be once again unemployed ) bike riders lined both sides of the drive just outside the Sleigh House doors. Kris released the brake, snapped the whip then shot out of the Sleigh House like a rocket. Just as Kris reached the end of the drive and the sleigh took flight, he was heard to exclaim...

“THIS HAIR-BRAINED IDEA OF YOURS SURE BETTER WOOOOORRRRRRRKKKK!”

Enjoy the ride!