On The Road Again
My wife and I need to exercise more. Every time we leave the
house we notice vultures circling overhead in anticipation and
now our washing machine is doing that nasty thing where it
shrinks our clothes. So, in a moment of pure inspiration and
absolutely no intelligent thought whatsoever, we decide to take
up mountain biking. We could remember biking as kids and there
was nothing to it. We set out to purchase our bikes with the
fond memory of a cool breeze gently blowing in our faces.
One of the first things we notice is that the seats are too
small. Apparently they are now making the seats smaller than in
our youth. The clerk smiles knowingly and smugly suggests that
for the more mature biking enthusiasts they can attach foam
padding. There is, of course, an extra charge. My wife chooses
the extra padding and is currently riding around on what looks
like a bucket seat from a 1967 Buick. I, on the other hand, have
decided to save the additional expense and go without the
padding. My proctologist has assured me that the tingling in my
left buttock should eventually fade away.
Early Saturday morning we prepare for our first cycling
adventure. We decide to leave early to insure we'll be back
before dark. My wife is to travel in front and carry a fanny
pack with suntan lotion, a first aid kit and our medical
insurance cards. Her job is to set the pace. My job is to follow
behind and criticize. I'll be carrying a backpack filled with:
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (for subsistence), energy
bars (for endurance), 2 jugs of Gatorade (to replenish our
bodily fluids), rain gear (in case of inclement weather), a map
and compass (in case we get lost), a flashlight (incase we're
lost at night), and signal flares (to assist the search party).
We go over the route one final time. I spread the map out on the
kitchen table, pointer in hand. "This is the route we'll be
taking, so pay close attention. If you have any questions, now
is the time to ask."
I carefully review the emergency procedures. "If separated, we
will rendezvous either here, at check-point Charlie, or here, at
check-point Romeo."
"We've been over this four times already," my wife complains,
obviously taking the whole adventure much too lightly and
showing no respect for my superior training and experience.
After all, I was the one who spent nearly two full years in the
Cub Scouts, not her. Fortunately, I understand the seriousness
of the task ahead and have taken the necessary precautions.
We're finally ready to put our weeks of training and
preparations to use. It's time to venture forth and boldly go
where no sane middle-aged man or woman has gone before -- it's
time to leave our driveway.
I brief the kids. "Now remember, while we're gone I want one of
you to remain by the phone at all times in case we need to call
for assistance."
"But you're only going around the block," the kids complain.
"The house will be in sight the entire time."
Ah, the innocence of youth. They oversimplify everything.