This is a re-post of a blog entry I wrote about the trip home from a bicycle ride a couple of years ago. It wasn't momentous by any stretch of the imagination, but for some reason I just enjoyed that blog entry. Forgive me for patting myself on the back all the way out here in the Caribbean.
Let's just say you decide, hypothetically speaking, of course, to drive two hours away to do a 53-mile bicycle ride on the first day of spring, an absolutely gorgeous day.
Let's just say, hypothetically speaking, that you not only survive the ride, you actually enjoy most of it. Minus the brutal headwinds in the last 5 miles or so.
Let's just say that after the post-ride meal, when you're feeling all warm and fuzzy and full not only of pasta but of accomplishment, you decide to take the scenic, country route home rather than the interstate.
Hypothetically speaking, of course.
It is highly possible in this hypothetical situation that you could hit every small town between the ride location and your home at the exact same time that every resident goes out to buy groceries, fetch prescriptions, go to the post office, visit the bank's 24-hour ATM, fill up the boat with gas, and take the dog to the vet.
You could also hit every red light in every one of those towns.
You could be in the right lane when it ends, or the left lane when it ends, no fewer than four times because you don't usually go through these little country towns.
You could be waiting at a red light (because you most assuredly WILL be waiting at a red light) in one of those infernal little towns with the courthouse in the middle of the square, necessitating three turns to go around it, when a policeman blocks your path to allow a funeral procession to come through.
It could be a record-breaking funeral procession. Hypothetically speaking, one of the cars in the procession could have a sticker across the back window that proclaims, "God is Slap Awesome."
You could wind up following said funeral procession for the approximately 42 miles it takes to get where it's going. You could also wind up hating a deceased person you never even knew. Hypothetically speaking.
You could allow the GPS bitch to guide you onto a "by-pass" that has three 4-way stops and a freakin' red light on it. OF COURSE IT HAS A RED LIGHT!!!! What exactly might it by-pass?
Your low fuel light beeper thingie could come on, and suddenly every gas station that takes the only gas card you have will have moved to the LEFT side of the road. You could ignore the warning four or five times, passing up the opportunity to stop at no fewer than sixteen gas stations and/or convenience stores that take a major credit card that you DO have.
You could, hypothetically speaking, still be wearing cycling tights and a bandanna, ruling out any possibility of visiting a convenience store's bathroom to relieve your bladder of the gazillion bottles of water you drank on the bike ride.
Five miles before reaching home, a furniture delivery truck could pull out in front of you, obviously driven by someone on the clock and shooting for overtime.
The two hour trip home could take you almost three hours.
Interstates were probably built for a reason. You would think someone would teach you that in college.