Sunday Evening Bike Ride
Yesterday evening I went on a bike ride.
I try to ride my bike at least two times a week, which seems to always hard to schedule in.
I first rode down Sandy Plains Road and in a shopping center we frequent. This shopping center has a high occupant turnover. It is always interesting to see what is gone and what is new.
This time the vacant store next to where Anna has her nails done is no longer vacant. HOT DOG PLACE is there. Well, HOTDOG! They were closed. It looked like they have been in operation for a few days – some of the smaller lights in the establishment were on – but hopefully closed because it was Sunday evening….. I mean, who goes out and buys hotdogs on Sunday evenings?
I did a skateboarder’s special and whipped my bike up on the curb and glided up to the window and looked in. There is a big menu sign on the wall, by the counter that says ORDER HERE.
There is another sign, under the ORDER HERE sign that says IF YOU ARE UNSURE STEP ASIDE TO LET SOMEONE ELSE ORDER WHILE YOU MAKE UP YOUR MIND. I like that. Many times I have had to stand idle by while a couple or a family study a wall menu in detail, and maybe even upside down.
The wall menu offered several kinds of hotdogs and things like cooked in beer, bratwurst, sausages, etc. Under the heading FREE TOPPINGS they had chili, raw onions, horse radish, and all the regular and rare condiments.
I’ll have to pay them a visit and check them out one day when they are opened. I doubt if they will out-do Brandi’s World Famous Hotdogs – you have other things to factor in, like the people and spicy chili.
I rode on to Sprayberry High School and rode around the perimeter of the student parking lot and headed back the way I came… I wanted to look at that hotdog menu again.
On my way back, entering the first street of our subdivision a paneled pickup truck was parked on the street by the first driveway.
A tall man with a thick crop of stark white hair walked around the truck carrying a bucket of either green plums or green apples. I recognized him. It was Mr. M. He lived a block away.
I quickly mentally reminded myself that his next door neighbors bought the house next to where his truck was parked and moved there. They probably told him of the tree full of apples or plums. Incidentally, they moved into the house they bought but they did not move from the other house. They occupy both houses. We are not quiet sure why – and it really isn’t none of our business.
Mr. M. did not notice me. He leaned against the truck with one hand and holding the bucket with the other hand and started puffing. He was puffing in and out.
It reminded me of the time I had my heart-attack. I huffed and puffed. My body automatically turned on the huffing instinct. I think my heart was not getting enough oxygen and my huffing and puffing machine defaulted itself on.
I pedaled slowly up the hill turning the bike sideways to see how Mr. Music was doing. I was thinking about going back down and asking him could I help him and he got into his truck. By the time I got to the top of the hill he had slowly pulled out into the other street and was headed to his house, which was just around the corner.
By the time I got to his house he was backing into his driveway. I bet he will not mention his huffing and puffing episode to his wife.
And I pedaled the 5 more blocks to home, huffing and puffing.