Ladies Night Extended

Last night I attended Ladies Night at my local bike shop. My reason? To make some friends and plan some rides. I soon realized that this was a night for road cyclists. Not a problem, but I don't own a road bike. I mountain bike and I don't really need crazy nutrition supplements for my rides, I need a partner in case my head meets a tree. While I didn't make friends I did win a new pair of gloves. Whoooo! This was not the end of the excitement.

I went home and feel asleep in the living room a couple hours later. A couple hours after that I woke up and stumbled to my bed as I worked out the crinks in my neck. What I didn't do was check to make sure the sliding glass door and the door to the garage were locked. And now for the pattern. A couple hours after that Wiley (we're dog sitting for the month) starts barking wildly by my window. Before I opened my eyes I thought it must be morning and Wiley was barking at the children who use our front yard for the bus stop. When the barks continued but moved further from my window I slowly opened my eyes. Now he was locked into the back corner terrorizing something. And it was pitch black. Only 2:30 am not 7:30 am.

Probably just a rabbit or the famed deer I'm always hearing about, I told myself. A few minutes later I'm more awake and a little freaked out because I've decided that a deer or rabbit would not be loitering. Wiley continues to bark. I wearily climb out of bed, full of dread for what I have to do. Best case, I'm chasing after Wiley trying to get him into the garage and quiet. Worst case, Wiley's got something or someone cornered and I'm going to have to sort it out. Aggressive children would seemed blissful at the moment. So I throw on my robe and debate if I should grab a gun. Wiley, who had stopped barking for a moment starts again and I can't quite tell where he is.

I grab the closest gun from behind the bedroom door. Then I realize I don't know what kind of gun it is. Skip keeps various guns around the house, including my new Daisy Red Rider. At this point I'm tempted to grab the bb gun because I know it's loaded, but it's in the kitchen and won't really scare anyone. So I get the security gun from the other corner of the bedroom. Why not grab it to begin with? Because to do so I had to walk past the window near the street. Two windows actually. I grab it and feel more terrified that I'm lugging a heavy gun around and I can't quite remember how to use it.

I can't turn on a light. I wouldn't be able to see in the dark after that. I also can't turn off the light in the kitchen, there is no rational reason I just can't. It gives me a little comfort to have a low light burning. Wiley continues to bark. I check the rooms quickly and make my way to the kitchen. There I peek through the drapes. I don't see Wiley but I do see a car parked across the street. Yep, that's where Wiley had lost his mind a few minutes earlier. Deep breaths. It 's probably been there all night. But I still creep to another window and close the blinds. Then I go back to the sliding doors and look out into the night. I can't hear or see Wiley.

I begin to wish I'd grabbed a darker robe and put black paint on my face. I don't own black paint but am certain that anyone outside can see my pale face. I put the barrel of the gun next to my cheek. Maybe they can see that too. Wiley starts barking. I can't see him but his in the corner to my right and the car is in the far corner to my left. Has someone been in that corner?! Can they see me?!

I retreat to a back bedroom. I want to call the police but I don't know their number and my phone is in my bedroom. To look up the police number I'd have to go back to the kitchen. Not going to happen. My phone I manage to grab and I go stand watch at the bedroom window. I can see the car. If nothing happens after 20 minutes I'll relax and go to bed. I see someone light a cigarette inside the car. Just a flash of orange and my heart races. A coincidence. Pure coincidence.

CRASH CLANG WRRROOOOOOFFFF! That came from inside the garage. I pull back from the window convinced that I just saw someone give a signal and another person is going to barge into my house. I dial 9-1-1. I tell them I think someone is breaking into my house. I tell them I can see a car across the street. I'm speaking louder than I want to but I can barely hear myself over the pounding in my chest. I've had three people break in to my house over the years. Twice I knew them. The third time I didn't but he took my roommates computer.

I give my address and they ask me if I see anyone. No, I don't hear anything but the car is still there....And the car door is open. The gun I'm holding starts to shake and I'm worried I'll set it off because it's not the gun that's shaking but my entire body and the gun could drop. I'm now cradling a rifle, or a shot gun, or a pellet gun because what if this isn't the loaded gun. Where are my shoes?! I'll get them.

"Is the car still there? Did anyone get out of the car?" a voice asks. Wiley is still in the garage barking.

I'm still on the phone with the 9-1-1 agent. I look back at the car and the door has shut. I still can't see anyone. The headlights flash. Another signal. Then the car starts and drives slowly. Wiley's barks get muffled and from the variation in sound I know he's running around the back yard.

"The car is headed towards Sherwood," I whisper. "It's turned and heading toward IL-8."

"Ok, a police car is on it's way. Don't open the door unless it's an officer."

Dial tone. They hung up. I panic and do the only thing I can. I call my mother. It's 2 am where she's at and still she answers. I tell her just enough to give her a heart attack before the cops are calling me.

"I have to go. I'll call you later."

She either thinks I'm a dead woman or I'm hallucinating again.

Knock, knock.


I see the cop car, notice the uniform and still struggle to open the door. He's a nice looking guy. A little more librarian than hero with his wire rims but he's got a tool belt that looks like Batman's so I accept. His hands go up and he takes a step back with alarmed eyes.

"I really need you to put that gun down," he insists.

I jump and start to toss it on the ground. Luckily I stopped myself and rushed to put it in the hall. Illinois has some funky gun laws and I probably just violated nine of them. He takes my information and tells me he's going to look around some more but I should quiet the dog. Oh yeah. Wiley's barks had become familiar, something stable in that moment. I waited until I heard Wiley's deep growl. The cop was in the back yard, now I could open the door to the garage.

Wiley grinned when he saw me. Have you seen a dog grin? He bounded over to me, licked my hand and listened when I told him to sit. His owners will read this and shake their heads in disbelief. Skip will read this and wonder how I tamed the beast. Wiley won't come to anyone but his master, and me at 3 in the morning. I lock him inside and wait for more instructions.

The cop comes back to the front door and asks me more questions. Did our bedroom window always have a tear in the screen? Uhhh... Well you would have known if someone was trying to get into your bedroom window. Don't worry. We've got the car stopped. It's a female.

I listen to some cop radio garble. "We've got a serious 96 here." A 96? What is that. The officer relaxs. You didn't see anyone try to get into the house did you? No. Not really. A 96 is a psych patient. He proceeds to tell me how safe my neighborhood is and if anything else comes up they'll call me.

A mentally ill woman. Confused. Stalker. Or just wanting to be my friend? Ladies Night may have been a success.

Oh and Skip? He's hunting turkeys, the kind that gobble not park across the street.

Two-Year Learning Curves

Some people naturally catch anything you throw at them. Some of us need a big welt on our heads before we learn to place our hands in front of our face and close when the flying objects touches our palm. And it's still painful. Imagine the struggle when you have it down, life is great and the wind flies through your hair. Then you put your bike away for the cold, snowy, icy winter, take your bike out in the spring and realize you forgot how to ride.

That was me, age six or so, embarrassed and horrified because the first year I learned involved a horrendous accident ending in a summersault through a sticker patch and a thump on a log. Traumatic. Obviously 20 years later only a bright blue hard tail mountain bike could make me happy.

At least I was happy when I tried my first too long ride in the city and the tire kept deflating. And I gladly smiled when I realized if I completely took my bike apart it barely fit in my emptied car trunk. When I nearly flew off the front, I frowned, scrunched my nose and stowed the bike against the bedroom wall. Every weekend found some disaster to prevent me from learning.

Summer's back and the bike's out, possibly at the urging of a natural bike pro who enjoys hurdling down and through narrow rocky tracks in the quakies.

We rode the gondola up the Canyons so he could ride down and I could walk my bike. Actually the gondola wasn't enough and we rode a ski lift up to the very top. Well the very top after we climbed a few hundred feet. A glorious climb if I might acknowledge the grace and style and speed of the novice (ME!). While Skip maybe felt out of breath and light headed on the uphill run, I found that by holding my breath and closing my eyes I generally made it to the next stopping point and a little oxygen deprivation keeps you sane.

It also wears you out and makes the muscles in your neck pop out. Creepy, yet effective as I am here to type it out.

Sympathy Pains

My best friend, whom we call Vegas Stacey (she doesn't know this and I will let you believe it is for her scandalous nature instead of geographical location) called me today to tell me about her first bike riding adventure. In the past three weeks both of decided it was vital to our existences to have a mountain bike. And we both bought one on impulse, knowing little to nothing about the sport. Points on her end for having a husband to teach her.

He forgot to mention the effects of riding in Vegas heat with the sun beating you into the asphalt. The way she told it, she rode her bike around the neighborhood a nice easy 20-minute trip with a brutal hill at the end. In my mind I imagined her pushing, pulling and not really pedaling that last half of the hill. I wasn't far off but didn't expect the next tidbit.

Her ride made her physically ill. This amazes me and sends me into a fit of maniacal giggles. Yes, this is why she calls me. To brighten my day with the release of endorphins. I couldn't ask for a better prescription. It's funnier to me because the last we rode a bike together I had the mono. It knocked me out for a summer. And instead of lying low I hiked Timponogous at 3 a.m. with Stacey. It turned out to be one of our less brilliant ideas as I started hallucinating 10 minutes in.

So we compromised with our outdoor adventures. If she wanted to run for miles and miles I would ride a bike beside her. All we needed was a bike. My friend Brian lived in our complex and had a midget bmx-ish bike, minus the bmx and add some years and lack of rotation. I remember gasping for air and wishing for the burning in my thighs to stop, or for my legs to disappear in general.

Even on the bike I couldn't keep up. Stacey got a little frustrated and switched me. Remember that I still have the mono and I am kicking her ass. Riding the bike she can't keep up with my sicky-shuffle. Great bike.

Stacey's telling me that the only reason she didn't actually throw-up is she couldn't open the door fast enough and thought it improper to expel over the flowers. My sides hurt from laughing and I've got a man with curious eyes staring at me. I assure her that she isn't really as out-of-shape as this story leads her to believe. After a moment of silence in which I picture her rolling her eyes at me I confess to hyperventilating on my first ride. You can understand why she calls me.