My life as Ronco commercial

The disaster that is this ride continues unabated, as I sit down on the concrete bridge to wait for pickup, and hear a loud *CRUNCH.*

“Oh god no,” I think, “please tell me that wasn’t what I think it was.”

Yep, it is. I want to weep and gnash my teeth and wail, as I reach into the back pocket of my overly long jersey and pull out…….a bag of Cheez-Its, in a state of complete disintegration. Oh, the humanity! Is there no justice at all in this world??

Dejected, I sit back down, and decide to call my friend Stan (aka “Keith”) to tell him about my latest tales of woe, because I know he appreciates hearing about such things. He in fact has a great idea, i.e. that I work the Boobages to see if I can get something out of this whole fiasco – like a ride, since it’s now been a while and there’s no sight of my mom. I unzip the jersey a bit, and seem to get more fulminating glares from old geezers Hank and Mabel as they go cruising by at a sedate 25mph. Alas, no one stops, which I guess isn’t a bad thing necessarily.

Though I do find it interesting to note that a cab slowly goes past and asks if I need help – though the police car doesn’t even slow down. Figures.

I get off the phone with Stan, and who’s that calling? My mom.

Mom: I’m lost!

Me: How can you be lost? It’s just T-stop, left, right, left, right, left.

Mom: I turned on some road and the first road was to the left so I kept going and now I’m on Leach Rd. somewhere which is the way to Wisconsin.

Me: What in the……did you go all the way to the end of the road? Where could you have possibly turned?

Mom: I don’t know, there was some 4-way stop sign.

Me: 4-way? Mom, that’s not a T-stop.

Mom: Okay, I’ll backtrack. Bye!

On the bright side, at least I have plenty of snacks. And water. Since I only got 11 miles into my ride. And a bit of useful info:

· Lara bars - I tried the cherry one, and it tasted like they took a bunch of dried cherries and smushed them together. Too cherry for even a fruitaholic like me.

· Clif Mojo bars – Omg, this thing was so good it seemed like a glorified candy bar. But of course it’s WAY healthier than that because it has the word “Clif” in the title. Buy this.

So, back to our plucky heroine (me) on Route 176, waiting, apparently in vain. I start laughing at the ridiculousness of this all. Then figure another half hour has gone by, so I call my mom.

Me: Mom, are you still lost?

Mom: I have no idea where I am. Here, I’m at a farm, talk to this farmer lady.

Me: Hello?

Farmer Lady: So where are you? Your mom has no idea where she is.

Me: Yeah, I think she doesn’t understand the concept of a T-stop. I’m at 176 and Franklinville Rd.

FL: Oh, your mom is way far away from there. She’s by the Huntley High School.

Me: The Huntley High School? So she’s back where she started?

FL: Seems like it. I’ll give her directions to 176.

Me: Thanks!

I wait, and wait some more. Now, my mom is east of me, so I expect to see her coming down 176 from the east. Instead, after about another 30 minutes, I see her pulling over on the shoulder…….having come from the west? What in the world?

I load my bike into the car, and take the wheel, to ensure we make it back to Huntley during daylight hours.

Me: Mom, how did you wind up coming from the west?

Mom: Well, she said to take 176, so I know how to get there from Marengo Rd., so that’s what I did.

Me: So…..you took Marengo, which runs parallel to 176, then turned on 176 at the point where it curves around, and then backtracked to where I was?

Mom: Was that wrong? Oh, that was all after I stopped and asked the construction workers where I was, but they were Russian and said they were from Chicago, so they don’t know any of the roads out here.

It’s silent in the car for a moment.

“Well,” I say brightly, “thanks for picking me up! (mumbling – even if it took 2 hours)”

After all, beggars can’t be choosers, and if you’re stupid enough to leave your tire-changing stuff at home while on a long bike ride, you need to be grateful for whoever’s willing to pick your sorry ass up.

We meander back, me completely ignoring my mom’s attempt at directions (“Don’t you want to turn right here?” “Umm, and go in the exact opposite direction of Huntley? No.”), and then after getting back and freshening up, this is where my life segues into a Ronco commercial. As in, “But wait, there’s more!”

Yes, even my innocent ride to Starbucks is fraught with peril. Because I also decide to go to a bike shop in Fox River Grove to get a larger behind-the-seat bag to make sure I can’t ever forget some part of my tire-changing ensemble, and wind up on meandering River Rd., behind a car going the speed limit of 25, as am I, and in front of an idiot tailgating me like he thinks that’ll make me speed up.

Suddenly – cue dramatic music here – what do we see but a huge deer bounding across the road right in front of us! Guy in front of me slows, as do I…which is good, because 3 seconds later we have the trailers, i.e. fawn and Papa Deer, also gracefully bounding across the road. In order to avoid the collision, guy in front of me stops, as do I…..and I look back in time to see Asshat going too fast to stop, because he’s obviously not paying attention and has his head up his ass, and I hear the loud screech of brakes and only because I had NOT been tailgating the guy in front of me, there’s just enough room for me to lay off the brake for a second and move up just enough to avoid the squishing.

My first instinct is to jump out of the car and beat the guy behind me to a pulp, but instead I make a random turn and pull over, so that I can do a search and rescue for my heart, which has jumped out of my chest and is gamboling about in the woods. Really, that’s how close it was.

Needless to say, after going to the bike store I hightail it back to Sun City, where I resolve to not leave the house again today, if not for days on end. Usually my point regarding messages from higher beings is that I don’t understand what they’re trying to tell me, and they should try sand writing or alphabet soup or something. Today? Yeah, I had no problem whatsoever figuring it out.