The rain was falling quite heavily as I drove home, though I still swung past the park on the off chance it would stop long enough to do a dry run. No such luck. I drove home and went inside for a ride on the trainer. Sixty minutes later, soaked with sweat, I headed for the kitchen to prepare dinner.
I heated the oven and pulled the Amish casserole from the refrigerator I’d put together the night before. When the oven dinged to tell me it had reached 350 degrees, I put the casserole in and headed upstairs for a shower. I returned to the kitchen in ten minutes, enjoying the aroma of my dinner, when my cell phone rang. It was my next-door-neighbor, Pat. “John – Mike’s putting up a new garage door opener and I’m going over there to watch him while I drink a beer. Want to join me?”
Mike lived next to Pat and was quite mechanical. He would, however, need some needling to make the project go more smoothly, and we were just the neighbors to do it. “I’ve got dinner in the oven, but there’s 20 minutes left on the timer so I’m good,” I said.
I took Dakota and walked the two houses to Mike’s. He was, in fact, putting up the opener. It was all laid out, with instructions at hand and looking like a bit of a puzzle. “I put one of these up thirty years ago and don’t remember a thing about it, so I’m here to look pretty and lift anything heavy,” I offered.
While standing there, Dakota felt nature’s call and squatted for a good dump on Mike’s front yard. She likes to go in Pat’s yard, but Mike’s would do in a pinch. I grabbed the scooper and cleaned it up while sharing my fondest childhood memory of poop scooping. “So I was like ten and we had this big collie. I took care of her including cleaning up the poops. That first winter, it snowed heavy and often and I was thrilled that her shit disappeared and I didn’t have to clean it up. I was pretty sure it was gone forever, I guess thinking it would melt into thin air with the snow, come spring. Let me tell you, I was pretty disappointed and disgusted when the snow melted and the yard was blanketed in soft, mushy dog shit,” I said.
With that precious story, I left for home and my Amish casserole. I thought I owed myself an extra-large helping because of the ride…and I also figured ice cream on warm apple pie should be included. I’m starting to think that if I don’t get my riding up to 200 miles a week here real soon, I’m going to weigh 300 pounds.
Bike duration: 60 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 120 bpm.
Calories Burned: 850.
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