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.

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

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!”

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

“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!

Garage Sale Bargains

Speaking of garage sales – I’m reminded of times back in my early days of cycling when my brother, Gary, and I would jump on our Stingray-inspired, Brand X bikes (not that I wouldn't print the brand name – it’s just that I can’t remember it!) and go exploring every street, nook, and cranny of Midwest City, Oklahoma where we grew up.

We would be gone for hours. I don’t really remember our parents worrying too much. Maybe they did. But, then again, maybe the fact that they knew we were together and that the 60’s in Small Town, Oklahoma were a little more tame and worry free than the New Millennium 10’s in Big Mega City, Texas.

But anyway – there weren't too many places that Gary and I hadn't explored in our little hometown while we were out on our bicycle journeys. In fact, Gary and I actually mapped out the entire city simply by riding the streets and drawing and making notes as we rode along. I’m positive that we could have actually afforded to buy a map of the city – or even stopped by one of the local gas stations and picked one up for free – but such are the early days of two structural steel draftsmen!

As many kids did, we also collected stuff - junk to some, trash to others – treasures to many. One of our vast array of collections consisted of matchbooks. Many of our trips netted us a bountiful catch and a wide assortment of matchbook covers – there for the taking in the gutters and ditches along the sides of the roads. (Okay, so we weren't into collecting the high-dollar stuff yet!  We were just two young boys in the middle of Oklahoma, remember?)

During this time, many of our neighbors woke to the sounds of their newspaper landing on the front porch before the sun came up each morning. A newspaper precisely pitched from the street in most cases. A few remember waking up to the sounds of shattering glass – the not-so-precisely pitched delivery. Nevertheless, the trusty steed with butterfly handlebars, banana seat and extended sissy bar zipped through the streets and driveways of predawn in that little town in 60’s Oklahoma, faithfully delivering the daily news.

Exploring and mapping small-town streets, collecting matchbooks and delivering the morning newspaper – where is this little story going? Nowhere, I guess. I thought we were going to talk about garage sales.

Enjoy the Ride!

CYCLING WITH MRS. NOAH

Em hurriedly worked through the huge basket of wet laundry—hanging each article on the backyard clothesline in order for them to dry in the vibrant afternoon sun. With three grown sons and their families to care for, clothes washing day was always a busy one. Not that Em had to do all the work herself mind you—all three of her daughters-in-law pitched in to tackle the abundance of household chores needing their attention. But as Em hung the last of the last piece of clothing on the line, the other three came running from the back porch announcing that they were finished and in unison sang out, “Can we go now? Can we go now? Can we go now?”

Em smiled, picked up the empty basket, headed their way and replied, “Yes, we can go now—I’ll meet you in the barn as soon as I take this basket back to the house.”

Now where, might you wonder, were these three so excited to be going?  While the where is always an adventure, it’s the what that is the important issue. For as they have done for over a hundred years, every Saturday after all the chores are done, Em takes her daughters-in-law on a cycling journey through the surrounding countryside. And as usual, their plan would be to ride for three or four hours then return home in time to take the dry clothes inside and start preparing the evening meal.

Now Em (actually her name is Emzara—even though some know her as Na’amah—and then there is a few who just call her Nancy. It was actually her husband that gave her the nickname of Em several hundred years earlier when they first started dating. Over the years, it just sort of stuck. But, to continue with what I started to say…) Now Em wasn't a fast rider but she wasn't what one would call slow either. Most outings she would easily take an opportunity or two to leave the other three in her dust—but then, like a good mother-in-law, dutifully wait for them to catch up at the top of the hill or in the shade of a tree. As Em made her way to the barn, she was already formulating the day’s route—and even where along that route that she might be able to get the advantage over them once again. Yes, Em had a competitive but playful side to her.

After filling water bottles and airing up tires, Em headed out through the barn door and led the way to the main road. Nel followed on her bike and Zoey and Anna brought up the rear on their tandem. Once reaching the road they turned to the right and then headed towards the outskirts of town. They waved as they were greeted by a few of the neighbors who were out working in their yards or firing up grills for their afternoon barbecues  The sky was a gorgeous blue, the sun was bright and the temperature was as nice as anyone could have asked for. As the first few miles ticked away, things couldn't have been more perfect for this merry band of four.

Soon Em and the girls neared the schoolhouse where they had all gone in their younger days. As they were riding past, they noticed a gang of kids painting graffiti all along the side of the building. They hollered at them to stop but the kids just laughed, ignored them and kept spray-painting their gang signs and other slogans. Em decided that it would be best to not antagonize them further so they continued on their ride—she’d report them to the authorities on their return into town.

Within a couple of more miles, the ladies were rolling along the country roads—through the occasional tunnels created by the trees towering along both sides of the road—or past the acres and acres of fields with their crops nearly ready to harvest. Em couldn't help but think of days long gone when she and Noah would be riding the tandem together and enjoying the wonderfulness of a ride like this. She remembered when Noah got her interested in cycling—a few months before they got married. Noah was quite the cyclist back in the day. He and his friends used to wear those goofy leather helmets and travel here, there and everywhere to bike races. They had even talked about doing The Texas Time Trials—but Texas hadn't been invented yet. And now those days were long, long gone. Noah hadn't even touched his bike in nearly a century. All he and their three sons did, from sunup to sundown, was work on that silly boat. It’s all they've done for decades.

About fifteen miles from town, as they rounded the corner, Em snapped back to reality as she saw her opportunity to get a jump on the girls—the two back-to-back hills she called “The Double Humper.”  Taking off like a bolt of lightening and just as she had planned, she left the girls in her dust.

Reaching the top of the second hill, Em looked around to see how far back the girls were—a good couple of hundred cubits or so. She slowed to a stop and got ready to dismount her bike when all of the sudden—WHAM!—she was knocked to the ground by two hooded men who had been hiding behind the bushes. They grabbed her bike and went running off into the woods. By the time the girls got to the top of the hill, Em had gotten up and dusted herself off—no major injuries or anything—but the two men and her bike were long gone. Deciding that it would be best to just head back home, Em, with Nel perched on the handlebars, took over riding the single bike—and wondered to herself, “What exactly is this world coming to?”

A little over an hour later, the girls were back riding through the center of town. Just as they were approaching the intersection of Fig Avenue and Gopherwood Street, the doors to the bank burst open and three men came running out carrying several bags of money—they knocked both bikes and all four women to the ground as they made their escape. Dazed, the ladies sat there in the road for a few minutes until the bank manager and a few customers emerged from the building and helped them to their feet. After checking to make sure that everything was okay, they got back on their bikes and started pedaling the last few miles to the house. “Goodness, this has sure been an eventful bike ride!”

Within a matter of minutes, the sky started turning dark gray. One moment the sun was shining—the next was almost like it didn't exist. They only had about three more miles to go before arriving home. As they entered their subdivision, the people that had been doing lawn work were throwing potted plants across the fence at their neighbors—who were responding by throwing lawn furniture and hot coals from the barbecue grill over the fence back at them. “This is all so weird.”

Actual photograph showing  bicycles being wheeled

 up into the ark. (Camera film quality left a little

to be desired back then.)

Two blocks from home, the sky let loose. In a matter of moments, everything was drenched. The girls quickly stashed the bikes in the barn and feverishly worked to get the soaking wet clothes off of the line and in the house. Once inside, Em got a fire going and the girls started wringing out the clothes and hanging them up all around the house to dry. All at once a streak of lightening illuminated the sky and thunder shook the walls so hard that dishes started falling from the shelves. Just then the front door burst open and Noah bolted in, quickly slamming the door shut behind him. Tossing his raincoat on the floor he glanced around the room, looking at his daughters-in-law then finally making eye contact with his wife as he announced—

“Ladies—pack your bags. We’re going on a cruise.”

Enjoy the ride!