One can have many adventures on a bike. Its quite amazing really. I went for a simple bike ride last night. It was maybe a 2 mile bike ride, tops. Took about 20 minutes. I used the bike path near our home, and as I was coasting alone and passing a family walking along, I imagined myself along an old dirt road. Children racing along to catch the hopping toads (or in our case, lizards). My straw hat would of course stay one well. Wild flowers would gently spill out of my wicker basket. It would be a cool summer day. (Not really an oxy-moron if you think about the fantasy life, anything is possible). It was a lovely time.
I passed Walmart and Albertsons as I turned onto a more fast paced road. I pictured myself cycling down mainstreet, this time, brown paper packages, tied up in strings graced my little whicker basket. Oh and a flour sack. Old automobiles honked in a friendly wave. Dainty white gloves are on my fingers. Children playing with those larger than life hoops. Maybe, once in a while a cat will scurry across the road.
It was time to turn again. This was the road leading out of town. An elderly man was pulled off to the side, a mexican man was jump-starting his car. The bike path is more narrow here. I thought of a wheel coming off a buggy and a gentleman helping a gentleman with his wheel. I also passed a man in a wheelchair, almost ran into him as a matter of fact, thats what happens when you think of the adventures your having and not watching where your going. Gulp. But as I passed, I used that image as someone like Mr. Churchill from Jane Austen’s Emma passing by with a tip of his hat and a smirk on his face. I really wasnt blushing you know. It was that cool summer heat getting to me.
Finally that last stretch that will take me home. My bike has turned into a gentle riding mare. I cant be the only one thats ever pictured my bike as a mare, even as a child that was my favorite thing to pretend. Returning home to my little darlings. I pass an elderly couple struggling along to get a good walk in for the evening. My mare trots pass this lovely gardener and his wife. They smile. They have not a care in this Utopia world. My riding crop is crisp and green of course. It is lovely evening.
Finally, I’m turning into my driveway. All fantasy and dreams gone. I am home. I hear my little boy giggle as Daddy blows on his tummy. I hear my little girl say, “Daddy, Emma. Daddy, Emma.” And I know she’s begging for a turn. It is time to come home. And am I glad to be here.