killing time and eating ice cream

Our Sunday bike ride began without a camera. I immediately bemoaned the situation with each bend in the road. We drove for nearly an hour to reach a rail-to-trail we'd never before ridden.

Bill said, "ok, state your case, then forget it."

So I'd say, "oh, that would make a great you-know-what. I wish I had my you-know-what." And we laughed.

We planned to bike Butler to Bellville, Ohio: a ten-mile round trip. There was reported to be an ice cream shop right beside the trail in Bellville. A good thing!

Ohio is blessed with a growing number of rail-to-trail bike paths. I love to ride them and imagine the people of years gone by who rode the trains of these same routes. Winding through farmland, along streams and through small towns, the trails are peaceful and scenic.

Nearly four miles out, I glanced at Bill's rear tire. Hmmmm. Looking low. In fact, looking nearly flat.

"Uh, your tire looks low," I called.
"It does?"

"Really low." Sometimes a wife treads carefully in matters of mechanics. I figured he'd KNOW if it was flat, and I needn't point it out to him.

"You might want to check it," I called.

And so he did. It was indeed flat, and two rounds of pumping didn't fix it. We walked/rode on to Bellville, parking by the 100-year-old train station and found the ice cream shop.

The Buckeye Blitz waffle cone was out of this world, and worth pushing a bike with a flat. And well worth dripping chocolate on my white shirt, too.

Even though three other bikers offered to repair the tire, we decided to have Bill ride back to Butler on my bike, get the car and come fetch me.

In a life accustomed to clock-watching and rushing around, my 45- minute wait seemed long. The sun was hot, my water getting warm.

Then. I relaxed on a bench. I watched all manner of bikers come and go. Families. Retirees. Serious bikers in training. Slow, leisurely bikers. All enjoying a Sunday afternoon through the Ohio countryside.

One family stopped near me for a break.
"We'll be having dinner soon; he shouldn't have ice cream," the mother said of her son.
"Oh, who cares; let him have ice cream," answered the dad.

I thought, yeah, let him eat ice cream. It's Sunday and lots of calories are being burned on that bike. Let the kid eat Buckeye Blitz as it drips down his arms onto his t-shirt. He'll remember this day for a long time.

But then, I would have said the same thing as a young mom. Always so serious about nutrition and stuff.

Soon Bill showed up with the van.

And my short 45 minutes were up.