The perfect storm...

Our designer dog, Murphy and LuLu

THE LULU CHRONICLES

Today’s blog is a public service announcement. I feel compelled to warn you about one more hazard of bike riding in the country during the fall of the year. I wrote about my last bike ride this past Tuesday. The wind got so bad I had to call the Hubs to come get me. So, it will serve you to check out which way the wind is blowing before you head out your drive way.  However, this PSA could possibly save you from a trauma from which you may never recover. I will only mention this once and never speak of it again…

Okay, so LuLu and I were tooling down the road a week ago enjoying the glorious sights of fall, when I look ahead and what do I spy? A manure truck in the middle of the road. It’s spraying ‘organic growth hormone’ over a cornfield that had been recently harvested and plowed under. I’m at the point of no return so I pedal on preparing myself as I practice holding my breath. Yep, it was bad on two counts: The smell and what I had to pedal over. It was a messy truck, making a mess if you get my drift.

I round the corner with the stench of organic growth hormone interwoven through every fiber of clothing I was wearing, with an extra bonus of LuLu’s tires slinging the stuff in our wake. But, oh, it gets worse...

It’s a busy morning. No less than five, yes, five, manure trucks materialize on my biking route all busy doing their thing. By the fourth truck I am one with nature. I’m convinced I will have to strip naked out in the yard the minute I get home and burn my clothes in the fire pit.

And, then I look down the road one more time and things start happening in s-l-o-w motion. I see it coming… the perfect storm. The fifth manure truck is barreling towards me. It’s large, looming and on a mission. Then, there’s me on my pink bike pedaling as fast as I can—one hand pinching my nose, the other clutched to the handlebar. And then there is the… wait for it… dead skunk in the middle of the road. It’s the Bermuda Triangle, the Black Hole, and Friday the 13^th all rolled into one perfect nano second of bad luck. Aww, man! Worst ride ever!

So, you’ve been forewarned. Venture out on your bike on a fine autumn morning just after harvest time only if you dare. I’m telling ya, bike riding ain’t for sissies.

Later,

deb