With summer comes the 'firsts' of the year. The first bike ride, the first camping trip, the first trip to the pool. It always seems to take a disproportionate amount of effort to release winter's grip. The bike tires are flat, the tent has a rip you planned on fixing over the winter, the swim diapers are now too small.
Yesterday, Joan and I refused to let our first road-bike ride be thwarted. Spencer, bless his heart, spent 3 hours on my shiny new road bike named Amy. The seat was raised, moved backwards, then traded out. The handlebar stem was replaced, the grip tape redone. The resuscitation efforts were both valiant and laborious, but Amy was at last pronounced on the scene to be definitively and irretrievably "too small."
A 4:30pm departure now turned into an 8pm departure, we set off nonetheless, with a mountain bike stepping in as Amy's temporary substitute.
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| The perfect circle directly above Joan's head = a stunning full moon, not done justice by my camera. |
Once on the open road, we sailed smoothly until Geneva was overcome by James' charms and wouldn't quit trying to hold his hand. She didn't pick up on his subtle hint of yanking his arm away with an icy glare.
We were all bewildered, really. Look at that face. What's not to love?
But James remained firm against her advances and resorted to calling out for help. "Hannah! Yaneva's arm! Stop, Yaneva, stop!" I stepped in and solved everything by encouraging James to stay focused on his sucker. Note the mood change.
We made it back to the car after dark, at which point Joan lost the tiny springs off her front bike wheel. We spent 10 minutes crawling on hands and knees through the filthy rent-a-car parking lot while two cab drivers looked on. All to no avail.
At last safe in the car and on our way... when the car began to lurch-chug-chug-lurch, and Joan noticed the gas gauge was buried below empty. We limped the car into a gas station, but of course we didn't have our wallets. A search through the change tray produced exactly $1.10. And that blessed 1/3 of a gallon got us home.
By the time we got home, Geneva had recovered fully from James' rejection and romped about on the hood of the car, in brazen confidence in her aptly dubbed "white trash outfit."
Up way past all their bedtimes ("their" = James, Geneva, and Joan; "bedtimes" = 8:30pm, 8:30pm, and 8:45pm, respectively), we loaded up and said goodbye.
