My Lovely Lovely is afraid that she is getting out of shape. (Just for the record, my Lovely Lovely is, in fact, lovely lovely. I’m not worried about her shape; she is.)
“Well,” I told her, “Go ride your bike.” (This is my solution to everything. I don’t suppose it always works. “I’ve broken my leg.” “Well, go ride your bike.”)
“I don’t have a bike,” she pointed out. (At first this struck me as quite picky, but, upon reflection, I suppose not. It is, however, a situation that will have to be rectified.)
“Well, go ride my bike, then.”
She laughed, but she didn’t go ride my bike. Instead, she suggested that we go take a walk. This is not the same as riding your bike. This may seem so self-evident as to make the comment unnecessary, but there it is anyway. A walk does not have the character as even a sofa ride would have.
Of course, you can take your dog on a walk.
I have seen Chuck out riding his bike with his dog.
No, I think that needs a little explanation. Chuck’s dog was not, in fact, riding. Chuck was riding, the dog was walking, and the two were connected by a leash. This gave me grim thoughts of the dog running the wrong way, the leash getting tangled up in the wheel or wrapped around the crank arm and all kinds of unpleasantness resulting, but Chuck assured me that this has never happened to him.
I figure that there are three possibilities.
1. He’s fibbing.
2. He’s telling the truth.
3. The head injury from a dog related accident has obscured his memory.
Either way, I have to admit that I’m unwilling to make the experiment. This may possibly be due to the fact that my dog is small, hyper and poorly trained. (I’m sure that at least one of those things is my fault.) There mere thought of attempting such a thing with my dog is enough to cause me to wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat with the sound of sirens dancing in my sleep deprived brain. I’ll pass, thanks.
The weather for the next day or two is, I think, supposed to be good, by which, at this time of the year, I mean “dry” and “warm enough that I will not have to look up the symptoms of hypothermia” so I hope to get some actual riding in soon. Only time will tell. My legs are telling that I had better commute to work tomorrow or they’ll pitch a fit.
In a completely unrelated note (you would appreciate that pun if you already knew what I was talking about, but I have discovered that people seldom know what I’m talking about – even I don’t often know) my Lovely Lovely and I have taken up playing the tin whistle.
“Why?” I hear you asking. (I am paraphrasing. Some of you are probably asking a rather more pungent question than that.)
“Why not?” I ask. (Well, the real answer is that I am learning the whistle so I can help her learn how to play, and she is learning how to play because I suggested it so that I could have someone to accompany on the bouzouki. Selfish, perhaps, but it turns out that she’s enjoying it, so it all worked out in the end.)
I will not be playing the whistle while riding my bike because
A. It would look stupid, and I can do that well enough without any help from a whistle
and
B. I don’t want to end up immortalized as the bicycle version of Phineas Gage, thank you very much.
I am now tired of typing and am also tired of not riding, so I intend to perform the reverse operation to each. Got it? Excellent.
See you on the road.
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