Friday afternoon Cade and I had a brilliant idea to ride our bikes to Limeberry, a little frozen yogurt shop near our house. We thought it would be a great idea for an otherwise boring afternoon, or as Cade put it: "We ride our bikes there, stock up on fat, and burn it all off riding back." Right, Cade, because you're in such danger of getting fat. There was only one small problem. Limeberry happened to be four miles away, eight miles altogether, over a series of busy streets. We finally convinced my mom that it would be okay for us to ride there, when we reminded her that my dad had ridden around in San Fransisco on his bike when he was in third grade. We finally got out of the house, after numerous promises to stay on the right side of the road, wait for the little hand signals on the other side of the stoplights, and wear our helmets. Oh, yeah and we also brought her phone.
It started off great we rode there and got in line to get our yogurt. "Now remember, Cade. We have seven dollars. They cost about $2.50 each so don't go over!"
"Yeah, yeah. I won't."
We proceeded in getting several little cups and tasting every single one.
When we were finished I placed ours on the scale. The total came to $6.14.
"Let me feel yours," I said suspiciously. I weighed each in my hands. "Oh my goodness, yours is so much heavier."
"Let me see." He grabbed them. "No way, yours is, like, waaay heavier!"
How come people say we never agree on things?
We ate our yogurt and listened to a group of high school girls in talk about how their tans were really coming in. Cade got up, "I'm gonna get a drink." He came back with an ice cream bowl filled with water. "They didn't have any cups." He explained. We finished our yogurt and got on our bikes. We had gone maybe one block when I heard a small pop. All of a sudden it was very difficult to ride and my back tire was suspiciously deflated.
I got off my bike and pushed down on the wheel. My hand came down and squished the empty tire. I yelled to Cade, "It's flat!"
"Oh, great, I guess you'll just have to ride it flat."
"But it's dangerous! You're not supposed to do that."
"What do you suggest?"
I felt my pocket where my mom's phone was. "We could..."
"No, we're old enough, we don't want to bug her. Come on, we can switch off."
So we rode the next four miles in strained silence, switching off every now and then. The last stretch home was the worst. The bike made a terrible noise with every pedal. As I strained to keep going on the last mile all I could think about was that noise. That terrible, gravely grinding noise. What did it sound like? Chewing, I thought, chewing, like cookie monster gobbling cookies and chewing them. Again and again and again. (Yes, I did forget that he now eats vegetables.) As we pedaled home, all I could think about was that gravely cookie monster-like chewing.
After what seemed like forever we reached home where we realized my mom had tried to call us twice and not succeeded. Needless to say she was not thrilled...but that's a different story for a different time.