It's not like on a whim we say let's go ride and walk out of the door, jump on our bike and ride until our heart's content. First and foremost, we start by negotiating schedules. I can ride when the boys are at lacrosse practice between the hours of 4-5:45 p.m., Black Betty has a window of 3:30-5:15 p.m. between drop-offs of dance and baseball pick-up and Brown Betty has pick-up of her youngest at 5:45 p.m. which she cannot be one second late for or she will be charged! Then there are our work obligations. Let's just say Brown and I have jobs that can easily be put to the back burner while Black Betty has more pressing obligations, which in this case kept Black Betty from riding with us.
Family. check. Work. check. Bike. Oh yeah, that little detail! Is the bike even rideable since it hasn't been touched in months? Tires need to be pumped, cobwebs dusted off, chain lubed, brakes tested. Here's where the helpful husbands come into play. All the Bettys are lucky in that we have enablers as spouses. My husband put the bike rack on the car and gave my bike the once over and pumped my tires (I can pump my tires just fine but have a nasty habit of blowing the tire, more on that later). Brown's husband all but rode with us as he is the most attentive in the bike department. He gave it an A #1 tune-up and put it in the mini-van so all Brown had to do was hop in the car in the morning. So lucky!
Bike. check. We rode from a small town outside of
Blonde Betty
May the wind be always at your backs, black, brown and blonde as they are. One century in your muscle memory is worth a lot.
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