Over the weekend, on our way to Belkin Family Lookout Farm with the kids, we drove by two nice-looking bicycles out by the street with a "free" sign on them. My first instinct was to fling open the door, roll out of the moving car, then dart across traffic on what really isn’t a very busy road at all. Free bikes!!! And they looked new.
In reality, I restrained myself. We were already late to meet our friends, and the back of the car was filled with crap, as usual. Plus Husband doesn’t enjoy these kinds of pit stops and he hadn’t had his morning coffee, yet, which meant we were bound to have a big fight about it. About stupid bikes. I had to ask myself if this was going to ruin the whole tone of the day. I agreed to let it go. If one of the bikes was still there when we got back, I reasoned, then I was meant to have it.
But, the bikes were not there when we got back. Of course, they weren’t. Who’s going to pass up free bikes? I glared at Husband. Without even realizing it, I had spent much of that morning’s drive charting my prospective bike routes around town. How I could get to Russo’s by just taking the bike path along the Charles. Ditto for DePasquale’s on the other side of the river. Then I would hitch a double-wide trailer to the back and head out on 117 to the farmshare and really piss people off on their evening commutes. I could do all my shopping by bike during the month of October, leaving a virtually untraceable carbon footprint, and then I would finally be crowned the winner of the Eat Local Challenge!
Not anymore. I can’t help but think that fate got it wrong this time. One of those bikes was supposed to be mine. Somebody, probably in my very own neighborhood, maybe even right this minute, is riding it. Smiling, no doubt. And I’m mentally thrusting a stick through the spokes of the wheels riiiiiiiight…….now.