DOWNHILL FROM HERE

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (04-01-21)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

 

     There's nothing nicer than taking a bicycle ride on a warm March day, because with the leaves off the trees the sun hits you from everywhere, and you can invade peoples' privacy by looking in their windows from miles away. First, you should make sure you are well prepared for the trip. We took along a couple bottles of water, because the electric blender, limes, package of salt and margarita glasses did not fit into my knapsack. I like to bring my own camera instead of just using my phone, in case I need to snap a mug shot and call my lawyer at the same time. Make sure you pump up your bike's tires before you get started. You may be thinking that I'm someone who never runs out of air, but you never know.

      The bike rack is a source of possible injury before you even mount the bike. Mine has six straps that are supposed to attach to different sides of the car's liftgate. Once you've lifted the liftgate and it's now parallel to the ground, you reach up and lay the bike rack on it, attaching the straps to the top. When you close the gate to attach the sides, the top is no longer still attached and the whole thing falls on your foot. If you try to clip it to the bottom first, the laws of gravity will teach you what you failed to learn in physics class, and it falls on your other foot. It's at least a two man operation, and unlike my last meeting at work, it might finally help to have six people pulling in opposite directions.

 

     We were headed down the North County Trailway towards Yorktown, and I couldn't wait to get out of the parking lot with the bicycles. It turns out that I either gained ten pounds during covid quarantine, or my pants lost ten pounds, because they were a little tight and the key fob in my pocket kept sounding the car alarm every time I bent over. Can someone explain why there is a car alarm on my key fob in the first place? Some automobile executive somewhere thought it would be a great idea for people to be able to alert the authorities if a crime were to be committed near my car. "Help! Someone is trying to steal my Dodge Dart!" I shout, and several alert citizens who live in the area respond, helping the thieves make off with my car so they don't have to listen to that damn beeping anymore. "And do yourself a favor and hit the gym, because those pants are cutting off your circulation."

 

     The bike ride would be a great time to stop and smell the roses, but everything is still kind of dead. Nature is starting to work its Spring magic though, and frogs are croaking in a small puddle of water, relentless in the inexorable march of the cycle of life. Their ceaseless song seems to say to their mate, "We've got to get the hell out of here, this place is going to evaporate in two days, max." Further down the trail a snapping turtle sunned itself on a log, casually snapping its gum. In the trees a pileated woodpecker tapped out a Morse code to say, "Watch out world, I haven't even begun to pileate yet."

 

     Every couple of miles on the trail is an "Emergency Call Box" for your safety, which made me extremely hungry. Why would that make me hungry? Because what if I forgot my cell phone and didn't pack a lunch, would ordering a pizza be considered an emergency? If there were a bigger emergency maybe, like a possible snapping turtle attack, maybe I could just slip the pizza order in as a palliative measure. Who is on the other side of the call box anyway? They would have to come and rescue me on a bicycle, and exactly where are they going to put me? One-Adam-12, one-Adam-12, please bring a bike with a huge basket.

 

     Meanwhile the scenery is flying by me, and it dawns on me that I've been going downhill for the last half hour. It couldn't be more pleasant until I think how horrible it's going to be riding up the hill on the way back. My mood brightens again when I realize that at least I will have lost the ten covid pounds by the time I get back to the car and I won't set off the alarm.