Country bike ridin

Poppy, Eli, Tony and Aaron riding bikes on the beach in St. Augustine

Sometimes I wonder if I have even one brain cell actually firing in my head.  Last week I decided to ride my old mountain bike...to Fort Morgan 12 miles from my place.  Okay I really had planned on riding into town and buying stamps a simple task really, right?  I was feeling so good I peddled straight past Brush and up near the Pawnee Power Plant roughly half way between the two towns.  I was still feeling strong despite the fact that I had no water, had not eaten anything for breakfast and needed a new seat on the very old bike.

I peddled on up to and past the beef packing plant and on into Fort Morgan.  By this time I had developed a mental list in my head of what I was going to purchase at the bike store in Fort Morgan.  I needed a water bottle that would fit on the holder I already had.  I needed a bike helmet - yeah I traveled to Fort Morgan without it - stupid I know - especially on these country roads.  There are no bike paths in fact there really isn't even a shoulder on the road.  There is a road....and an irrigation ditch and those are the options.
Anyway I needed a new seat, and I needed some kind of rear view mirror so I can see what color the farm pick up is that is going to run me in to the ditch right before it happens.

I get into Fort Morgan and I have to say I was honestly feeling good, not tired, not sore.  I head to the one and only bike shop in the middle of town.  Despite the fact that it is 10:05 and the sign on the door announces the store hours as OPEN 10-6, the place is dark and still.  I park my bike on the rack in front of the store and I wait.  At 10:20 I call my Mom.  "Is this place still open?  Can you get me their phone number"?  I call the store, no answer and I wait again.  I really wasn't thrilled with riding that bike another 12 miles without a helmet on but at 10:35, and still no signs of life inside the store I gingerly get back on the old bike and head east toward Brush.

As I arrived at the half way point I could feel myself slow down as I pushed the bike into a lower gear.  "Just go slow, you don't have any plans today", I thought to myself.  If I can just make it to Beaver Creek Drive I can get off the bike and walk it the last half mile on the thick gravel road.  Mind you I wasn't sore, wasn't too tired and really wasn't hungry or even thirsty. 

I peddled up the slight incline and slowly turned onto the gravel of Beaver Creek Drive and sighed as I leaned to the right and slowly got off the bike.  I took two maybe three steps.....and down I went.  The world was spinning and instantly I was nauseated.  When I say nauseated I was sick like when I was 16 and the basketball coach made us run wind sprints.  I sat on the side of the road my bike laying in a heap and knew i needed to to get that last half mile under my belt.  I looked down.  I was sitting dead center in a hill of angry red ants.  I pulled myself up and took maybe 10 steps toward home....down again I went.

A truck drove by, I wave like I am sitting here on the side of the road, baking in the now searing sun on my own accord.  Bear in mind that I did have my phone, my stubbornness prevented me from calling anyone.  Seriously?  I look at the closest home.  Can I make it to their garden hose?

Obviously I made it home on my own, I mean you didn't read about an ambulance call to my house in the local newspaper, right?  After some recovery time I called the "bike shop".  I asked for the owner or the manager, thinking I would inform him that his employees weren't working when they should be.  Much to my surprise the owner answered the phone and told me he was working that morning.  He just had to run some little errands before he opened his shop and he told me he strolled into open up about 10:45.  Seriously?  So much for me trying to keep it local.  Uh it won't happen again!