Last updated on 2/14/2023
For those of you who are not in a hurry
So we fix the brakes and loosen the shifter that keeps lockin’ up and head out for a midsummer’s eve bike ride. I lead the way, ’cause I have to look out for trains and bears and such, but I’m not goin’ too fast tonight because I can still feel last night.
The only thing that’s really wrong with our route is that it starts out downhill and finishes uphill – other than that, we cruise right through the middle of our little town, along the bike path, through a cemetery which houses a large and feisty flock of geese, and then into the green old Metro Park where everyone is competing to see who can relax the fastest.
We slow down as we pass the little gazebo by the village hall, because an oldies band is pumpin’ out “Kansas City” and we want to get a little rhythm in our ride. “They got some crazy little women there and I’m gonna get me…” Woops, red light. All the cars passing have their windows down. We hear every radio station in Northern Ohio, but only for 2 seconds each. Someone beeps and waves frantically at us. We wave back at ’em – wonder who that was? We stop and admire the excellent demolition of a little rickety house that is now a hole in the ground and a large pile of splinters. The geese honk as we fly by but do not hassle us this time.
The turn into the park is the best – a long green tunnel under the trees, cool as a cave and a long straightaway where you can crank it all the way out. Just as I turn to challenge my daughter to race, I hear her clunk into high gear and she goes whizzin’ right by me. Dang, her legs are gettin’ long. When we arrive in the park, there’s an orchestra in the picnic shelter. They’re playing Bach as we ride up, but switch suddenly to Strauss polkas and marches – perfect for this night, somehow. Horseshoes clank, someone’s cookin’ steaks, toddlers run amok. There must be 200 people here.
We get in line and head out – heavy traffic on the bike path, but swiftly and surely we pass ’em all. Not that I’m a Type A, but I do hate waitin’ in line. We wave at the friendly motorcycle cop. He won’t be bothering us tonight. On the way home, we stop off at the gazebo. The band is still going – My Girl, I’ll Be There, Yakety Yak. Summertime oldies, ripe as a peach. Some friends are there, some neighborhood kids with ice cream on their faces, some glad-handing local politicos. We head out just as the sun goes down. I sing “Eight Days A Week” as loud as I can all the way home. My daughter pretends she doesn’t know me.
It’s almost dark as we squeak into the driveway. I think for some reason, this evening might stay with me for a while. It feels like one of those times when you know something is changing, but you don’t know just what it is yet. Like when you know fall is coming, but slower and bigger than that. Sometimes the big things in life hit you right up front. Sometimes, like tonight, they sneak up on you when you weren’t even looking.
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