Drink Plenty of Water, Lots and Lots of Water

"Tell me why I don't like Mondays...I want to shooooooot the whole day down." ~Bob Geldof and the Boomtown Rats


I need to preface this entry by saying, I am extremely stubborn. I can be really really pig-headed and stupid, especially when I get frustrated. That said, read on, if you still want to.

Monday, ugh. How did it begin? It was a Monday morning in June, and it was crummy from the beginning. Tim and I were stressed about filling three weeks worth of work, due to a project cancellation, with payday only four days away. We had plenty of work to keep everyone busy, but we needed to contact homeowners to move them up on the schedule, get materials deposits, get everyone lined out on where to go and what to do on the new jobs, and get all the tools and supplies set up for the new work...the joys of small business ownership.

Annarose had been invited to play at a friend's house, Max was upset because he hadn't been invited. There was a subcontracting job to wrap up: call for dumpster pick up, get ridgecap to the site, take returns to the store for credit. The sub called wanting to know if his ridgecap was there and he was disputing whether some of the work we wanted him to do was in his original contract.

I was trying to get myself set up on a new job. I needed to stop by a different job site finish some work, then go to yet another site to pick up tools for the new job. Get AR to her friend's house by 10, well maybe 11, or 11:30...we'll be there when we get there. Answer phone calls. Answer emails. Fix the kids breakfast. Pack lunches. Deal with the sub-contractor. Get a check from a homeowner who was leaving at 4AM next morning. Tim had a hundred things on his plate to deal with, as well.

Tim left early that morning getting jobs setup. I was trying to call him about the sub-contractor situation, hoping to have him return the shingles and pick up the ridgecap. I couldn't get hold of Tim, his phone was turned off. Who could blame him? I didn't know what to do about the sub-contractor...Tim usually deals with any sub-conttractors. I don't have a truck, the roofing supplier is about 8 miles from the job site. We had 9 bundles of shingles to return, each bundle weighs 88 pounds... you do the math. Suffice it to say, it's a bit more than my 120 pound bike cart capacity. I was trying to figure it out, get the kids ready for the day, and get started on my own work for the week. The sub was giving me a big sob story about how he had to be paid today so that he could pay his employee who was going to be evicted from his mom's house if he didn't give her some money today for the phone bill. I had a hard time understanding how this was my problem, but apparently the sub thought it was.

Finally, somehow, the kids and I managed to get out of the house.

We rode over to the sub's job site. I called Solid Waste for dumpster pick up. Then I called the sub, told him to take the extra shingles to the roofing supplier then pick up the ridge cap and lumber in his truck. While on the phone with the sub, I heard the kids yelling at each other from around the side of the house. I don't even know what the fight was about, just a fight. I explained to them that if they want to work with us this summer, they have to get along. Daddy and I cannot spend the summer mediating fights...any more fighting and they would be going to summer school.

Next, we rode to another job site to do a bit of finish work. The kids were getting restless. "Is there any thing we can do, Mom?" "How much longer before I get to go to my friend's house?" "Why can't I go to a friend's house?" "How long will this take?"

I managed to get the work done. As I was washing up in the kitchen, I told Annarose that I was about finished. I warned her not to step on the threshold, as there was wet paint and caulk on it. Then Max came in. By some miracle, he stepped over the threshold and didn't mess up the work I had just finished. Just to be sure, I stopped him to check his shoes and the threshold. Good, everything was in order. I told Max to be very careful going out the door, be sure to step over the threshold, do not step on it, step over it. Max turned to walk out the back door and stepped directly in the middle of it, marring the new paint and caulk, getting it on the bottom of his shoe in the process. Argh. OK, I had to go and get the paint, the brush, the caulk and tools out again, and re-repair it. Max was all upset. "I'm sorry, it was an accident. I didn't mean to." I offered typical Mommy responses to a situation like this. Finally, I got it fixed and cleaned up for the second time. We headed out for the next job site where we picked up tools for the new job.

It was time to take AR to her friend's. It 's a 2.5 mile ride through town from the job site to AR's friend's house. We made it in 17 minutes, pretty good for two little kids and a tool-laden Mommy. When we got to AR's friend's house at 11:30, her friend's mom invited Max to stay and play as well. I was a little sad, as I had been looking forward to some Max - Mommy time, but Max was glad for the invitation. Thanks Esther!


The morning had been extremely frustrating. I felt I had been spinning my wheels, but not getting anywhere. I was glad to put the morning behind me and looked forward to getting some work done. Twenty minutes later, the phone started ringing. It was the sub...again. "We're done. We took back the shingles, but couldn't get the ridgecap. It'll be in next Monday, we'll put it on then. I need to get paid now. I have to pay my guy today, he got in trouble with his mom because of the phone bill. If he doesn't pay it today, his mom will kick him out of the house."

Wait, wait, wait. We just got the check from the homeowner a few hours ago. It hadn't even cleared our bank. It was Monday, Friday is pay day. I didn't have the checkbook with me to pay him. I would have go to the bank to get cash (if the check had cleared, not likely) or I would have to go back home to get a check. I needed to get my work done, too. The sub didn't care; he insisted. I called the bank to see if the check had cleared. Of course, the check had not cleared yet. There wasn't enough cash in the account to pay the sub with right now, I explained.

"I have to get paid now. Can't you just give me a check? By the time it clears my bank, it will be in your account." , he reasoned, "I can pay my guy so his mom doesn't kick him out. We're at your house. Do you want me to come pick you up?" The implied 'I know you're on your bike, and bikes are so slow' left unsaid. At my house? Crap. "NO, I'll be there. Just wait!" I told him. It was hot. I was frustrated beyond belief. I had a splitting headache. The last thing in the world I wanted was to be shut up in the cab of a truck with the sub and oh-so-broke-guy making small talk. What I needed was some intense exercise to work off some of my frustration. I got on my bike with cart in tow (I don't know why I didn't leave the cart at the site, probably for dramatic effect, knowing me) and headed home to meet them. I cranked it hard all the way to my house averaging 20 mph.

I arrived, sweaty and out of breath. I didn't say anything, but I spat an angry grunty 'hi' to the sub and his guy as I into the carport. It was clear I was ticked. The sub mumbled something by way of apology. I walked on by afraid of what I might say. I looked for the checkbook, couldn't find it, called Tim, it was in his truck...figures. I disconnected the trailer, told the sub and his guy they would have to wait while I went to get the check book...NO, they could NOT give me a ride... NO, they could NOT just go pick it up...I told you I that I am too pig-heade for my own good.

It was roughly 3 miles each way to Tim's job site. Unhindered by the bike cart I flew, topping 29 mph on the way. While riding I started thinking, "It's really hot, I should probably stop for a drink. No. I'll be OK. I'll get a drink when I get home, after I deal with the sub and his guy." I knew I was being stupid, which just made me more frustrated and stubborn. Oh yeah, I was pre-menstral too, did I mention that? I grabbed the checkbook out of the truck and cranked it on home. I didn't even go in to say hi to Tim.

I got back home, got off the bike with major jelly legs, and gave the sub his check. The sweat was pouring off me. I felt it running down my calves, I felt it soaking through my shirt. I really needed to get inside and get a drink, but I didn't want to until the sub left. Some screwy idea about looking tough or something, I don't know. I think it had to do with the notion that the sub and his guy think I'm crazy for riding bikes all the time. Who knows? I was not really thinking clearly, as my body tried desperately to drink my blood for lack of any other available fluid.

The sub was really apologetic. He looked at me intently with this strange expression I couldn't identify. His eyes were moist. I realized I had made him cry. Geez! Now I had this big burly guy in tears, because of my obvious irritation. Meanwhile, oh-so-broke guy made quips in the background..."Here I sit so broken hearted..." You know the rest. I am not kidding, he litterally said that, the whole poem. "What am I doing with my life?" I wondered standing there my driveway with a crying sub and outhouse poet. "Why don't I get a nice office job where I can sit in AC all day? Do the easy thing and quit riding bikes and drive everywhere like everyone else? Why didn't I major in accounting like my dad had recommended all those years ago?" I desperately needed water, but now I had to comfort the tearful sub.

I stood in my driveway apologizing. "Hey don't worry. It's OK. It's been a really hard day. I'm just frustrated. It's not you, its me. It's alright. It'll be OK. You do really good work and we want you to keep working for us..." I spewed the placating verbal vomit in my desperate desire to get inside where air-conditioned comfort and fresh cool water beckoned.

The sweat was just rolling off. It was running down my arms, my back, my scalp, my neck, my legs. My denim shorts were soaked. My t-shirt was soaked. My hair was soaked. I was covered in goose bumps. I started feeling a chill, despite the heat. I really needed a drink. Just another minute or two and sobbing sub and oh-so-broke poet would leave, then I could go in and get a drink. I started feeling shaky. I leaned against the wall so I wouldn't fall over, my legs were getting weaker and weaker. "Don't worry about it." I told him. "We'll call you. You guys have a good day. Thanks for the good work. I gotta go."

They were getting in the truck to leave, finally! As I turned to walk to my front door, it happened. Everything started spinning and the edges of my vision started going black. Crap! So much for looking cool and tough. A history of fainting spells in junior high taught me what I had to do - get my head down between my knees, quick, or I would be waking up on the ground in about 5 minutes. I grabbed the door knob and doubled over, standing there breathing deeply and looking at my knee caps. Sub and his guy got out of the truck asked if I was OK. "Fine!" I called waving them on with my free hand in the air and my head between my knees, bum to the sky. "I'm fine." I stood there doubled over for a minute or two before I could stand up and go inside. I raced to the kitchen where I doubled over again in front of the refrigerator.

About 10 minutes and two quarts later, I was fine. I could have avoided the whole humiliating-dizziness-dehydration thing, if I had not been so stubborn; if I had just stopped for a drink. I rode back to my jobsite and actually got a little work done before it was time to pick up the kids.

The moral? Drink plenty of water when it's hot outside. Don't be a stupid pig-headed show-off, or you'll be sorry.

It Could Always Worse!

"Mom, I am changing my motto from ‘suck it up and deal’ to ‘It could always be worse!’" ~Annarose Overshiner, age 7


Last Thursday evening, the kids and I went to a GetAbout meet-and-greet downtown. The forecast for the evening called for rain; it was raining lightly when we arrived around 5:15. By 6:30, it was raining pretty hard. I didn’t want to ride in the dark and rain with the kids, so we headed home.

The temperature was in the high 30s. We had winter coats, but no rain gear. It promised to be a cold wet ride home; at least it was still somewhat light outside. We braced ourselves and set out for home. We had hooped and hollered joyfully as we rode through puddles and standing water in the tunnels on our way to Stewart Road.

As we headed west on Stewart, Annarose was in rare form enjoying herself by making the best of a bad situation.

She called back to me, "Hey Mom!"

"Yes Posie, What’s up?" I asked.

"I decided I am changing my motto from ‘suck it up and deal’ to ‘it could always be worse!’" she called over her shoulder and started laughing.

I laughed along with her and replied "Wow! Posie that’s a great way to look at life when things aren’t going your way!"

"Do you know what I like about riding in the rain, Mom?" she asked.

"I can’t imagine, what?" I asked.

"When it’s raining, it doesn’t matter if I forget to put an ankle biter on, because my pants stick to my legs and don’t get caught in my chain!" she replied with a giggle.

I looked down and saw that her pants were plastered to her legs with rainwater. "Yep Posie, that’s a great observation!" I called with a smile.

"You know what else I like about riding in the rain, Mom?"

"I don't know, Posie. What?" I asked bemused by this silly game that took my mind off of being cold and wet.

"If you pee in your pants no one can tell!" she replied.

"That’s true. You didn’t, did you?" I enquired with a chuckle.

"Of course not! But if I did, it would warm me up. That’d be a good thing too." She called with glee.

"That’s true, Posie. You sure are a smart kid!" I encouraged her.

That was the end of her philosophical musings, so we started singing silly songs and telling jokes the rest of the way home. All in all, it was a really good ride despite the approaching darkness, cold, and wet. It just goes to show... it could always be worse, and with the right attitude ‘worse’ can be quite a lot of fun.

The biggest piece of beer bottle ever

I awoke around 4:30 to the sound of rain, heavy rain. OK, looks like it’ll be a wet day, I thought to myself. Around 6:30, I realized we were out of milk...Dang, meant to pick that up last night on the way home from Twilight Festival, but it was too late. I got dressed in my work clothes and headed off to Gerbes for milk and some groceries. Got home, woke everyone up, and got them ready for the day...typical morning stuff.

By the time we left for school, it was muggy and damp, but not actually raining. The ride to school was fun as usual, lots of puddles to ride through. I dropped the kids at school and headed to work on Worley. It was one of those days. Nothing went as it was supposed to. We opened the faucets, and they were the wrong ones. The grout was all streaky; we had to re-do it. Mike drove over to Lowe’s to get new faucets and grout. Before lunch, we opened the new medicine cabinet...it was broken, ARRGH! I can’t even tell you how often this stuff happens! I have such a love/hate relationship with the big box home improvement retailers, but we won’t go there.

At lunch, I rode over to Westlake’s for a replacement medicine cabinet and window covering. They only had one medicine cabinet; it was broken. They had stopped carrying the window coverings I needed. It was a total waste of time. I rode back to the house and sent Mike back to Lowe’s in his truck to get the stuff. I got the usual ribbing about being car free, "Why don’t you go get it on your bike? Hahaha" Dave teased.

"Well" I replied, "I could if you want, but it will take about 10 minutes longer. Given everything that’s already gone wrong today we are pretty tight on time. Besides, I’m the boss...so shut it."

I worked till 3:15, still time to make it to school by 3:30 to pick up the kids. I had to stop on the way out the door to answer some questions and get the guys lined out for the rest of the day. I was walking out the door at 3:20, if I rode fast I could make it on time. Three: twenty-one, phone rings, it’s Jim, the homeowner. I have to talk to him, give him a progress report. He’s been out of town all week. He’s one of our favorite clients; he’s a great guy. We have done loads of work on his house. I really have to take this call. If I try to be quick, I shouldn’t be too late to pick up the kids. The call takes some time, Jim’s mom died last night, I offer my condolensces and we discuss losing a parent. I give him the progress report and we line out stuff for next week. Given the circumstances, I can’t cut the conversation short. I get off the phone, it’s 3:35, I can still make it by 3:45, not too terribly late.

I walk out and hop on my bike, I start down the driveway. It feels really wrong. This isn’t just me bonking and hoping for a flat, so I don’t have to acknowledge my major weenie-ness. This is really wrong. I look down, my front tire is completely flat. We are talking pancake, no air what-so-ever. I have my micro-pump and a spare tube, but no spoons.

Shot! Truck! Big adrenaline dump. What to do!? I am already late. I don’t have time to change the tire, fix the flat. Why is this happening! Not again, I had like five flats during LCDC last year, not again, please. OK. Gina. Think! OK, OK. Take off the job trailer (a.k.a.-bike cart with work sign on back), pump up tire. Yeah, that’s a good idea.

Maybe I can ride it to school, pick up the kids, and ride it over to Klunk, if I can just keep it pumped up and keep my weight over the back tire. OK, OK, ummm, breathe. I try to pump up the tire, but I can’t get the freaking pump to work. Look at it. It’s set up for presta valves, I have schraders on this tube. Fumble, fumble, cuss, get it turned around, try to pump up the tire. It’s getting later. I don’t have time for this, have to get the kids. If only there was someone I could call. I still can’t get the pump to work. Finally, I get the pump attached. I think of someone to call. Sid and Simon’s dad, Mark, they ride all the time. He has a cell phone and he will be at school. I can have him get the kids and I can get them after I get the tire fixed. I should take this opportunity to say, I could have just gone back in the house and asked Mike or Dave for a ride, but I am doing LCDC and I can’t go in a car. How can I do this car-free?!

I call Mark, get his voice mail. Crap! I’ll call school, tell them what happened and that I am running late. I call school! My phone won’t work. Digital Roam! What the hill? Digital Roam?! I am in the middle of town. I push the Digital Roam button, I try dialing. I drop the phone. I pick it up. I try again. Digital Roam! Apparently, the school’s phone is no longer in service! What!? Digital Roam. I hate Digital Roam.

Somehow I got some air in the tire, which leaked out almost as quickly as I pumped it in. Clearly, won’t be riding this to school. What else can I do? What can I do? If I could just get home, about a mile away, I could ride Penelope (my sweet vintage Raleigh 3-speed) to school. I could run. I am standing in the driveway, sweating in my filthy Carhart pants and work boots, it will take about 15 minutes to get home, then I still have to ride to school, too long. I am already late.
If I could just get the phone to work. Still not working. If only I had cell numbers for Erika or Chad (other LCDC Lee School parents). Then Dave comes out and sees me hunched over my bike in the driveway fumbling with the cell phone and the bike pump, cussing under my breath.

"Gina, are you OK?"

"NO! I have a trucking flat tire! I am late getting the kids! My trucking cell phone won’t work! Not really OK?"

"Do you want a ride?"

"NO! I can’t."

"Do you want me to go get the kids?"

"NO. They’ll be disqualified. If I could just call school, but my trucking cell phone is on Digital Roam!"

"Do you want to use mine?"

"Yes!" I call school. Tell Carol I am running late, but will get there as soon as I can. Then I realize, how utterly absurd this is. If I take the ride, I can get Penelope and ride to school to get the kids. I can take my front tire to Klunk and have Karl put a Kevlar puncture proof tire on it to match my back tire, which hasn’t gone flat since I made the upgrade to Kevlar.
"OK Dave, can you take me home to get Penelope, then drop my front tire at Klunk and ask Karl to put a Kevlar tire on it? Tell him I’ll be there in about an hour."

So that’s what I did. If I hadn’t been running so late in getting my kids. If I had been able to get hold of someone else to be there with them until I could get there. If I had been thinking a little more clearly, I wouldn’t have done it, but I did. I took a one mile ride to my house to get my other bike, so I could ride to school to pick up my kids.

I rode Penelope to school, as I was heading up Broadway toward D&H, my phone rang. It was Mark Ellis. "Hi Mark. I had a flat, I was going to see if you could get the kids, but I got my other bike. It’s under control now. Thanks for calling. See you." I made it to school. They were sitting out front waiting, the last ones there. "We have to stop at Klunk on the way home guys." I told them. "Why?" "It’s a long story."

We got to Klunk, I asked Karl and Kevin if they knew what caused the flat. Kevin replied "Biggest piece of beer bottle ever." Karl agreed it was impressive. I asked if they still had it, but they had already thrown it away. Karl put the super tough puncture resistant Kevlar tire on. Hopefully, I won’t have any more flats now.

As I was riding home with the kids, I was thinking about that stupid broken beer bottle that I picked up on my fruitless ride to and from Westlake’s earlier that afternoon. The stupid broken beer bottle that forced me to ride in a car to get my bike. The stupid broken beer bottle that made me late to pick up Max and Annarose. And I thought that whoever threw that beer bottle probably didn’t throw it from a bike.

Wow! I could never do that!

I often find myself answering questions about cycling. People ask where I ride; most everywhere. How far I ride; pretty far. The conditions I ride in; all. What I carry on my bike; everything. Who I ride with; my kids. Why I ride; cycling makes each day a challenge and an adventure.

Frequently, I hear “Wow! I could never do that!” Invariably, I think, “The only reason you couldn’t, is because you’ve decided you couldn’t.” I assure people that it really isn’t hard. Then, I encourage them to give it a try, while helping them figure out how to begin.

One thing I have learned from cycling is that you can do anything if you really want to, give yourself a little extra time, and remember to pack water and snacks. My children, ages 8 &10, and I ride our bikes to and from school averaging seven miles each day. We run errands, visit friends, buy groceries, and go camping on our bicycles. Everywhere we go; we go on our bikes.

When it’s hot, we sweat. When it’s cold, we bundle up. When it rains, we get wet. Regardless of the conditions, we always return home safely. Sometimes we wish we were home “Right now!” but we’re not, so we keep going. When we are especially miserable: we make up silly songs like “If I ever lose my brain, I’d ride my bike out in the rain”. Whatever the circumstances, we make it through having fun with lots of laughter and a few tears.

I am constantly amazed by what we accomplish when we try. Ironically, our worst cycling experiences have become family lore. Like veterans with their war stories, we reminisce about the tough times we have survived on our bicycles.

There’s the time my daughter and I got caught riding in a hailstorm. She was crying “ouchie” as hailstones pelted her. “We’ll be home soon, sweetie” I reassured. I could barely see due to the rain and my tears. Two years later, the three of us found ourselves five miles from home as a cold front moved in. I offered to call and ask Daddy to pick us up, the kids, ages 5 & 7 at the time, refused. We rode through blustery wind and driving rain seeing who could make the best barfing noises, while daydreaming of hot cocoa and the warm fire that awaited us at home. Cycling isn’t always quick or easy. Neither is life, but two wheels and a healthy dose of humor can take you an awfully long way.

I’m not superhuman. I just prefer bicycles to cars, so I am raising my children car free. We love hearing Spring’s first bird songs, smelling late Autumn sun on crisp fallen leaves, and feeling brisk Winter air fill our lungs as we cycle through our lives. Bicycling makes every day a delicious adventure and reminds us we are capable of anything when we let ourselves try.

"I wish this was a nightmare and I would wake up!"

"I wish this was a nightmare and I would wake up!" ~ Max Overshiner, age 9.

OK, so Max had been asking me if he could ride his scooter to school for a few weeks. I kept saying no and putting it off; after all it's 3.3 miles to school. He was especially insistent on Tuesday morning. Once again, I said "No Max, it'll take too long. It's too far for you to scooter to school. We're running late. We don't have time for that right now."

Then he struck with, "What about after school? We'll have time then. You can carry the scooter in the bike cart and I can ride it home after school."

"True, but how we will we get your bike home? It's too big for the bike cart." I parried, looking at my watch and seeing that we were getting later and later...the cycling mamas and papas of the bike brigade would be waiting.

"I can lock up my bike at school and ride Annarose's ten-speed tomorrow. Then you can carry the ten-speed home in the bike cart; it fits, you carried it home from Klunk yesterday. I can ride my bike back home tomorrow after school." He struck the death blow - touche'. Clearly this kid has inherited my completely convoluted planning capabilities. Maybe we should have named him Rube. It was getting really late by this time. I caved.

"Fine." I replied, defeated. "Put the damn scooter in the bike cart, we have to go NOW." Just then, Annarose came up and put her scooter in the bike cart, as well. Apparently, I would be hauling AR's bike home in the bike cart this afternoon, as the cart would be full of ten-speed tomorrow. Being human, and thus fallible, I can only haul one bike at a time and the tires have to be 24" or smaller.

Scooters loaded in the bike cart along with all my tools and their book bags, we headed off the meet up with the rest of the bike brigade. We met Erika and Violet at Stewart and West Blvd, then over to Maupin and Greenwood to meet up with Mark, Sid, Simon, Jody, and Jasper. As we rode, Erika asked about the scooters. I explained. "Wow," she commented "You are reallly accommodating."

I felt like an overindulgent fool who has no control over her children, but I had a plan. When we met up with Shannon, Pete and Lily at Crestmere and West Parkway, the inquiries about the scooters started again. Still feeling a bit foolish, I explained lamely "I like to let my kids figure things out for themselves. Collect their own data." I added somewhat cryptically.

I dropped the kids at school and headed to the job site, a bathroom remodel on West Worley, in which just about everything that can go wrong has. The toilet hasn't exploded, so that's a good thing. Around 3, I headed over to school to pick up the kids for their scooter ride home and my ultimate vindication. I arrived at school and Max started by asking if Dad could come with the truck to pick up this desk that the school was throwing out. He thought it was really cool and wanted it for his room. We had been trying to get the desk picked up for a while, so I called Tim. He was on the way to the hardware store. Yes, he could stop by to get the desk. We waited around to help him load it in the truck. I took the opportunity to put the bikes in the truck, as well. Not that I wasn't looking forward to hauling the bikes in the bike cart for the next two days, but when opportunity knocks...

The kids had been riding their scooters joyously around the playground while all this was going on. After Tim left, I had my first small taste of sweet revenge. Annarose rode up and expectantly asked where her bike was. "I loaded it up in the truck and sent it home with Daddy. I thought you wanted to ride your scooter." I told her sweetly, relishing the concerned look on her face.

"Oh" she replied crestfallen "Yeah, I did want to ride my scooter home."

I wanted to give their scooter efforts a fair chance, so there could be no excuses later. I took them to Candy Factory for a treat and a rest before the long ride home. Rested and hopped up on sugar, we headed down Cherry St. to Flat Branch Park and the tunnels. So far so good. It was slow going, but I had figured it would take a long time. They were having a great time riding through the tunnels and along the sidewalk on Stewart. They held their own along West Parkway and were showing no signs of slowing. I was watching their kicking legs waiting for the inevitable signs of fatigue. Max worried me a bit, because he has perfected this technique of switching legs thus allowing one leg then the other some rest and recovery time. As we headed up Maupin he was switching legs and bunny hopping, causing me to worry that my evil plan might fail.

The going was very slow, 3-5 mph, little faster than a walk. It is hard to ride that slow for three miles and more, especially with a loaded bike cart while keeping an eye out for your scootering kids, and waiting for your ultimate revenge. You should try it some time. I did the whole thing in my lowest granny gear. Somewhere near Maupin and Edgewood, Posey started showing some signs of fatigue. She is an extremely tough kid, who will never admit defeat.

"Are you having a good time Posey?" I asked sweetly.

"Yeah" she panted.

"Good, I'm glad." I replied with an evil grin. 'She'll crack soon' I joyfully thought to myself. I was worried about Max though. He was a block ahead, as usual, just kicking along and bunny hopping. This was worrying.

Then at the corner of Maupin and Lindell, it happened!

Max cried out "I wish this was a nightmare and I would wake up!" I was confused at first. Did my ears deceive me? Was I having an auditory hallucination?

"What?" I asked.

He yelled it again while scootering through a water-filled low spot on the corner. "I wish this was a nightmare and I would wake up!"

"What do you mean Max?" I asked with relish. This was too good to be true. Surely he was talking about something else, he can't mean the wonderful scooter ride.

Half a block later, Posey cracked, "Can we take a little rest, Mom?"

"Well," I replied "If it's OK with Max, it's OK with me."

"Max, Annarose wants to take a break, is that OK with you?" I asked. Then for an added touch, I said "If you want to keep going, I am sure Posey will be all right."

They both collapsed panting on someone's front lawn. The heavens opened up and the angels started singing, "Halleluia! Halleluia! Halleluia! Hal-le-luia!" OK, that didn't really happen, but I did experience a profound sense of satification in knowing that I am truly not the pandering fool that I had felt I was earlier in the day. I was glad to know that the scooter arguement was over once and for all. Having experienced the three mile scooter ride from school, the kids would not ask to ride them to school again. Just to make sure, I said with
an innocent smile "OK guys, it's time to get up and scooter the rest of the way home." ...only half a mile to go.

We made it home 40 minutes after leaving Candy Factory - it would have taken around 15 minutes on the bike. The kids went immediately into Max's room and started propping pillows up on the headboard. They climbed into bed with their books and their gameboys saying "We need a rest!"

"Don't you want to go play outside?" I asked surprised, I have never seen my kids this spent.

"We will in a while, but we need a rest right now!"

In less than thirty minutes they were out on Garden Ct. with their buddy, Keenan, having scooter races and making up new tricks. They still play on their scooters most everyday, but they haven't asked to ride them to school since.

I have a bike mechanic.

“I have a bike mechanic.”

A few weeks ago, I experienced a devastating bicycle tragedy. Steve, Michelle, Tim and I were driving to St. Louis for a weekend of bicycle fun. The Second Annual World Naked Bike Ride and New Belgium’s Urban Assault Ride were taking place the same weekend on Saturdy night and Sunday morning, respectively. This was a weekend not to be missed,we ditched our kids and set out on our merry way.

The guys loaded the van and the bikes, while Michelle and I taught bike class. After class, Steve and Tim picked us up and we hit the highway. Driving eastbound on I-70 just west of the Route Z exit, Steve looked out the back window and exclaimed something I can’t remember, Tim looked back in shock. I heard something about Black Beauty, my bike, flying off the rack onto the highway and getting run over by a truck. Noone wrecked, and noone was hurt, thank goodness for small miracles. We pulled over and the guys retrieved the battered and broken remnants of Black Beauty from the highway. I sat in the van numb, stunned, and silent.

We headed back to Columbia with Black Beauty’s battered frame draped over the back seat. Our first stop was Klunk, where Karl and Josh met us with looks of disbelief and sorrow. Over the past few years, Karl had built her up from a Plain Jane 2001 Cannondale Bad Boy, into the bad-ass commuting, touring, load-hauling work machine ‘Black Beauty’. Since October 2006, Karl and Josh had replaced every single component and added the xtracycle.

After dropping Black Beauty’s torn and tattered remains at Klunk, we stopped by our house to pick up my single speed and hit the highway, again. We made it to St. Louis and had a great weekend of bicycle fun and mayhem.

The following days were a blur of worry and confusion. We called the insurance company, since Black Beauty had been run over by a truck, she was covered under our homeowner’s policy – lucky me. Talking to insurance agents and claim’s adjustors, I had to answer many questions and explain Black Beauty’s importance as my primary mode of transportation. “We sold our car a year ago. My bike IS my ‘car’.”

During one of these conversations, while trying to justify all the money I had invested in Black Beauty, I found myself answering a question with the following answer, “Yes. I have a bike mechanic.” As I said it, I realized how odd a statement this was. “Yes. I have a bike mechanic.” The statement came out like most folks might say “Yes. I have a doctor/dentist/podiatrist.” I realized, I must have a doctor, but I can’t remember his name. I have a dentist, but I haven’t seen him in ages. Being a healthy active adult with a bike mechanic, I haven’t needed to see a doctor in a really really long time. I don’t know any of my doctor’s phone numbers or office addresses. Try as I might, I can’t even remember my primary care physician’s name.

BUT, I have a bike mechanic. I see him almost every week. I know his phone number and address. I frequent his shop to get some air, see what’s new, pick up some new bike stuff, have my brake pads changed, drop off flyers, have a tire fixed or a wheel trued, or, most recently, have my new dream bike built. You name it, my bike mechanic is always there for my family and me. The more I think about it, if more folks had a bike mechanic, fewer folks would need doctors. Maybe more people should forget their doctors’ names and get themselves a bike mechanic, like me.


So “Yes. I have a bike mechanic.” Actually, I have two, Karl and Josh. Thanks guys, you keep us going.