Along for the Ride

My sometimes ride. And chauffeur.

 For many of you, the statement: ‘The Tolley family tends to spend a lot of their summer outside on bicycles’ will come as no surprise.

I’m almost sure I’ve mentioned it before.

And it's true.

Every morning, weather permitting, we saddle-up—Grampa, Gramma and as many of the chicks and chicklets as are out of bed and/or conscious.

With 22 members of our family living within town limits, at times it’s quite a group.

And the fact that we live in a community riddled with small lakes and a veritable web of biking trails makes the whole thing . . . in a word . . . easy.

Even taking into account that our town crowns the highest hill for miles and there is, of necessity, a lot of up-ping and down-ing.

With such a trail of cyclists, it’s a blessing that we have to cross only the occasional major street.

Our mishaps have been relatively few.

In fact, the only people who have pitched off their bikes are Granddaughter #4 (our newest little rider) . . . and Grandma.

And guess which one holds the record?

I did it again just yesterday.

And yet I still insist on going.

Sigh.

Finally, sitting on a park bench, putting yet another band-aid on Grandma's much-abused knee, and while the kids played at that day’s choice of park, Daughter #1 came up with an ingenious solution. One, I should point out, that would still allow Grandma to continue on the rides, but would be marginally safer and include two-wheeled death traps only peripherally.

Ahem . . .

Her answer? Pump Grandma full of helium, tie a string to her ankle, and float her along behind one of the bikes.

Like a balloon.

Can’t you just see it?

Her idea sparked all kinds of responses: “Ahhhh Reel me in! Low bridge! Low brid . . .!” and “Kids! Power li . . .zzzzaaaap!” and the ever popular: “I told you not to untie Grandma! Now we’ll never get her back!” That little beauty was also followed closely by: “Good thing we wrote her address on her forehead!”

There were suggestions of “Old Air/Wind/Gas bag” and something to do with “being full of hot air”. But by that point, I was already on my bike and halfway out of the parking lot.

My family’s for sale if you want them.

 

You get the idea . . .