The Tricycle "Pelotonia"

I suspect that the first bicycle that most of us rode was not actually a bike at all but a tricycle. Those 3 wheels created the perfect balance, so it didn't require the skills necessary to master the more formidable 2 wheeler we all know as the bicycle. With several older siblings, there were always plenty of self propelled vehicles to ride for a cruise around the yard. We had a rather long driveway and a turnaround area which provided a very nice test track for all of us. My mother could watch us comfortably from her domain in the confines of the kitchen which looked out over that hallowed tract. However, on this one particular day, my older sister, brother, and I had other plans. Who hatched the idea remains guarded information, even to this day.

After mastering the driveway, it seemed like a pretty good idea to take our talents out on the road. What better place could there have been than to travel the "short" distance to the hospital to visit our Dad. He always was there, or so it seemed. Why not just drop in on him and say hello? After all, neither he nor my mother ever could resist doing that. So, off we went.

The hospital was 2-3 blocks away, across 2 major streets, but who "cared" when we were 5, 4, and 3 respectively? We pedaled in our mini peloton, as if we were in the Tour de France, only we were members of the "Tour de Trikes". After what felt like an entire day, we finally saw the finish line in sight, the hospital. I think I went first, maybe at the urging of my older sister. The local hospital was perched on a fairly large hill, and upon breaching the crest, I remember taking my feet off the pedals. A bad idea, if you want to have any control at all. Over the hill I went, ever faster because of the steep incline. The others watched as I accelerated "out of control". They opted to stay and watch. There were no good options at this point, either cruise, unannounced, into the busy street below or bail out into the 8 inch curb. What would you have done? I wasn't going to play chicken with the cars, so I bailed out into the curb. You can imagine the scene. After hitting the curb, I was launched like a human rocket over the handlebars, only to find "comfort" in realizing that the projected landing area was a grassy knoll. After opening my eyes, and failing to see the bright lights of heaven, I thanked God I was alive. At some point I wandered up the hill to find my siblings waiting in shock. We all had survived this "wheelie" big trip.

Years have gone by since this trek to the hospital, and no doubt I have selective memory regarding the particulars from our meeting with Dad; I suspect it was a rather engaging discussion too. However, as I reminisce about this near "miss-adventure", just one of many, I am amazed that we even survived to tell some of these stories. On this particular day anyway, our breakaway group managed to "escape" for awhile, only to be reeled in by the "peloton", otherwise known as Mom and Dad!