The ‘pick up’ call...

Bikewives all know the loneliness of Sunday. Call it what you will – ‘long ride day’, ‘base miles day’, whatever. For us it’s just ‘lonely Sunday’. That is, until you need us. Then it becomes ‘long-drive-to-the-middle-of-nowhere day’.

Where is he????

Yes, we tell you it’s okay to take that long ride. But for Pete’s sake, be safe, and be prepared. Tell us roughly were you are going, or go with your little bike buddies. Take lights, money, your phone (charged, this time, if you don’t mind), and more inner tubes than you think you could possibly ever need. Yet sometimes, it’s still not enough. And so we get the ‘pick up call’.

My first real pick up call came when we lived in Scotland. My biker had started riding with a new group, and they liked their long, long, long Sunday rides. So, one Sunday, when he couldn’t ride with the group, my biker spouse decided to do a solo high mileage ride. He mapped out a scenic, hilly loop, about eighty miles or so. He left before I got up (he knew the routine) and was scheduled to be back about lunchtime. I got up late, the kids got up, we had breakfast, and planned our lonely Sunday, as we had so many Sundays before.

Then it came. The phone rang. Biker was stranded. He’d had three, maybe four, inner tubes with him, but he’d had one flat too many, and he needed me to come and get him. Now, that would have been fine, except…

It was cold, windy and raining. Not a nice day for a drive. Why anyone would ride their bike in that weather for eighty miles was beyond me, but that’s a subject for another post. I had to bring the kids with me. Two kids, both under five. 

But the best part was that he was at the furthest point of his ride, which looped around a mountain with no crossroads. Yep, it would be a forty mile drive each way. I woke up the kids, bundled them up, and we set off for Middle of Nowhere, somewhere in the Scottish mountains.

I was a little surprised when I arrived at Middle of Nowhere, over an hour later. He wasn’t shivering by the side of the road, looking repentant and miserable (as he should have been). Instead, this was a sweet little village, and there he was, comfy, dry, and warm in a cute café, greeting me with a smile framed with latte foam and cinnamon roll icing. 

Him: ‘Hooray! You’re here! Can I order something for you?’

Me: silence.

Him: ‘No? Umm, okay then. Can I just finish my coffee?’

Me: silence.

Him: ‘No? Ummm, okay then. Ummm, I spent all my cash on a Mars bar and a Coke about twenty miles back. Can you get the bill?’

Me: Silence.

And so goes the pick up call. 

Don’t get wrong, of course we want you to call if you need us, but look at it from the bikewife point of view. The least you can do is suffer a little until we get there!