People on The Eastern Shore use all methods of transportation to gad about the area. I’m not talking about the copious amounts of pickup trucks or cars rather, I refer to those who want to beat the system. Those modes of transportation involve all sorts of novel, but sane, vehicles.
You will see golf carts in both electric and gas, ATVs, grass cutters, and scooters cruising the streets of small towns on The Shore. I have a golf cart of Harley Davidson persuasion that was manufactured 42-years ago. Being relatively flat, the terrain is generally easy to pedal bicycles, too.
You will see golf carts in both electric and gas, ATVs, grass cutters, and scooters cruising the streets of small towns on The Shore. I have a golf cart of Harley Davidson persuasion that was manufactured 42-years ago. Being relatively flat, the terrain is generally easy to pedal bicycles, too.
Once settled on The Shore, my sainted wife felt as though
she needed her own personalized vehicle to fetch eggs, pick up mail, and merely
outrun the mosquitos on her way to visit neighbors.
“I’d like to get one of those giant tricycles with a
basket,” was her idea.
Being a doting husband, I set off on a Don Quixote-like
search for a used one which I would rebuild and repaint to “make it her own.”
My quest was less than successful. It seems as though people who buy those adult
trikes all have the same idea. Balance
will take a back seat to speed and road hazards on the way to that special
destination.
What people don’t take into account is that moving such a
large, heavy vehicle strapped with a rider and accessories such as a basket,
streamers, and horn, require the muscle tone of an Olympian. Add a dozen eggs to the equation and you’ve
got some pedaling to do. As such, they
often go un-ridden with less than one-mile on the tires, but still retain their
hefty price tags, akin to a Ferrari.
A local junk collector had a rusty old woman’s bike
available for the taking – from the drainage ditch behind his hovel. Off it went to be dutifully disassembled,
sanded, and tweaked. Worn parts were
replaced and a new cushioned seat designed for senior butts was added, as was a
wicker basket, bell, and American flag set.
Painted in shades of coral, yellow, and baby blue, this minor work of
art quickly became the envy of all in town.
The wide white wall tires helped distinguish this beach cruiser as a
one-of-a-kind.
It was not a bad thing that traffic was non-existent when my
sainted wife took her maiden voyage. I
was riding a mountain bike I rescued from the trash, trailing her and carefully
observing her every move. Pedal up,
pedal down, pedal up, pedal down… And so
it went through most of the sleepy town.
We made our way several streets over when we came across a
neighbor performing maintenance of some sort on his truck. We stopped for a brief chat and to show off
this sculpture on wheels which evoked a grin and positive comment.
The trip back home, however, was less successful. Looking like a jack-knifed tractor trailer,
my sainted wife’s steering abilities came into question. She was down on the ground, quickly. Our neighbor and I were lightning-like in our
actions to lift her from the one-mile-per-hour wreck. Her knee was scraped beneath the modest trail
of blood. Another neighbor dashed off to
the fire house for bandages and antiseptics.
And all was nearly well, again.
She still rides her bike and has learned to ring her bell
and wave to pedestrians while steering with one hand. Not too bad for someone who hasn’t ridden a
bicycle for nearly five decades.
Yes, I’m once again searching for an adult trike. But, in the meantime, we may have to resort to
training wheels and a pouch for the first aid kit.
