Author Archives: TrikeVixen

It’s all in how you look at it…

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There is some debate among my friends and family as to whether I attract odd things to me, or if normal things happen and I just interpret them oddly. Here are a couple of examples – you decide…

Odd event 1:

I got my Federal Income Tax refund check. It was for $672.00. I took it to an ATM. The bank was open, but busy, and I wasn’t looking to get any cash, just to deposit the check, so the ATM seemed easier. A note came up on the screen, informing me that $200 of my deposit was available right then, but access to the rest would be delayed 24 hours.

See, I thought that was odd. How much more secure could a deposit be? It’s a Federal Income Tax refund check! My checking account contained more than double the amount of the check, and my savings account had far more than that, but the bank wasn’t accepting responsibility for more than $200 of a check issued by the IRS. Does the IRS frequently bounce checks?

By the way, I saw a meme that said:

Now that’s funny!


Odd event 2:

One morning my alarm went off at what I consider an idiotic time of day to be getting up. It goes off at the same time every work day, but it’s still an idiotic time of day to be getting up. On this particular morning I hit the snooze button. The alarm went off again 5 minutes later. I hit snooze again. I rolled over and thought about how I really should get up the next time the alarm rang. I started listing in my head all the “stuff” I had to do before I could even begin my commute. Just then a police car, fire truck, and ambulance went by on the big street two blocks from where I live. My windows were open, so I heard the sirens quite clearly. They were loud! And they screamed past one after the other, not all at once. Dragged on and on. I tried to bury my head in the pillows, but as soon as the last siren began to fade – the alarm went off. I laughed for a minute before turning it off and getting up. Sleepy time was blatantly over!


Several people I’ve told that second story to have been surprised that I laughed. They said they would have been mad to have been so loudly awakened – especially so early! My opinion is that “mad” was an option, but laughter was a better way to start the day.

That’s kind of my policy for life in general. If you run into a difficult situation and you can find a way to laugh at it, you win. Every time.

Try it. Let me know how it goes.

It’s 10 p.m. – do you know where your fingerprints are?

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One day some friends and I were talking about fingerprints. We’d been reading about yet another crook who’d gotten caught by leaving his at the scene, even though he’d tried to wipe everything down. We wondered what it takes to wipe away your fingerprints. Just a quick brush with a soft rag? Little spritz of Windex? A thorough and energetic wipedown with some elbow grease in it? I’ve read lots of novels and watched many TV shows about criminals obliterating their fingerprints after committing some crime or another, but I never really paid attention to how they went about it.

Since that conversation, I’ve started watching where, exactly, I’m leaving my fingerprints. Turns out the answer is: EVERYWHERE! So I started trying to avoid leaving any. I’m down to “way fewer,” but I haven’t hit “none” yet. Here are some of my strategies:

I now use the back of my index finger – the fingernail itself – to enter my PIN number at the ATM. And my knuckle to select from the screen whether I want to do a deposit, withdrawal, etc. I don’t touch anything at an ATM with my fingertips anymore.

I open doors in public places by cupping my fingers through the handle and pulling. The handle’s surface then hits the middles of my fingers, not the tips.

Before I pick up a menu I look at how it’s made: plain paper? Fabric? Laminated surface? Maybe I’ll just have my date order for me. (Leave his fingerprints!) If the menu’s greasy it’ll pick up fingerprints more easily, but I won’t be leaving any, ‘cause I won’t be eating in a restaurant with greasy menus. I mean, like totally … Yuck.

Every file folder in our office has my fingerprints on it.

As do my keyboards – at home and at work. And the mouse at each location. Innumerable disks and thumb drives. Jeez, I’m gonna have to do a lot more research that “how to wipe ‘em off” concept.

My trusty vehicle’s steering wheel is covered in my fingerprints. So’s the gearshift. Turn signal lever. Door handles, inside and out. Damn, that thing’s a veritable smorgasbord of my fingerprints!

All my keys. Home, work – well never mind where else, let’s just leave it at “all my keys.”

Does my Kindle screen have a fingerprint or just a smear? I slide my finger across the screen to open a book, which would leave a smear, but I just tap the right side to turn a page. So I guess it has both. Are there clear prints at the beginning and end of each smear?

After typing that sentence I picked up my cup to take a drink. Bingo! Fingerprints on the cup. They’re all over the place!

When I buy something, I hand over my fingerprints on the money. If I get change, the clerk gives me somebody else’s fingerprints back. And adds hers at no extra charge!

This is actually kind of creepy to think about. I hadn’t realized how many places I leave my fingerprints. Oh, and DNA! What does it take to leave DNA behind? Is there some in your fingerprint? You may have left a skin cell or two on that dollar bill. A single hair could have dropped from your head, unnoticed, and landed on a shelf at the dollar store. Place gets robbed, you get implicated! (OK, probably not, but you did leave your DNA there!)

I’m being more cognizant of my fingerprint litter nowadays. It’s interesting to notice places I used to take for granted (staircase railings, grocery store carts). But I’ll keep working on it and once I get the hang of not leaving prints, I’ll be able to rob pretty much any bank, gas station, or pawn shop without leaving a trace. Then, even if I’m caught on camera I can blame my doppelganger. That gorgeous, brilliant, vivacious criminal hussy who looks just like me but doesn’t leave MY fingerprints behind.

Yeah, officer, go find her. I bet she’s still in the area. I’ll be over here, on my new island, spending some money that, um, I had, uh, saved under my mattress. Yeah, yeah, that’s where I got it. No, it doesn’t have my fingerprints on it, either. Uh – oh, I know! – I ran it all through the wash before I stuffed it in there. Yeah, didn’t want some stranger’s DNA under my mattress, you know. OK, um, well, I’ve gotta run now. You keep lookin’ for that doppelganger, why doncha? I think her name’s Linda…


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It has been suggested to me that I write a Self-Help book. Apparently I’m an upbeat and positive person. Who knew! But the suggestion has gotten me thinking about what I’d say to people who are so desperate for guidance that they’d turn to me.

Many self-help books offer lists:

10 Ways to Improve Your Posture

10 Tips for Better Gardening

10 Times Your Pet Mouse Can Make You Money

I’ve never done a Top Ten list, but I watched Letterman for years, so here goes…


#1. Dump Negative Nouns

People, places and things that make you unhappy, depressed, or just uncomfortable are not helping you become upbeat or positive. Stay away from as many of them as you possibly can. Yeah, I know some are unavoidable, but if you can get rid of any of them you’ll have that much less strain on your goal.

Once upon a time I had a job I really liked. There was a great group of folks working in this office, and the boss was a dream. Then Mrs. Boss decided to work there. Staff members started dropping like flies. I tried to tell Boss that his missus was the problem, but he wouldn’t believe it. He told me that one person had quit to go back to school and another had moved out of state. I told him that’s what they’d said because they didn’t want to hurt his feelings. (I had no such qualms!)

I tried to “wait it out” since Mrs, Boss had come from a long line of short-term jobs and I hoped this one wouldn’t last either. Her mother was a Real Estate Agent, so Mrs. Boss had become one, too. But Mom (who’d been at this for 20 years) wouldn’t do things the way Mrs. Boss said to, so that job fizzled. Her sister was a teacher, so she tried her hand at that, too. Took several years of classes to get her certificate, but then the principal of the charter school where she got her first job wouldn’t do things the way she told him to, so there went that career, too.

We had high hopes around the office since her brother was a long-distance trucker, but unfortunately, Boss gave her a lot of freedom, so she didn’t go on the road. She’d waltz around the office loudly announcing, “I’m the boss, too!”

My opinion is that if you have to tell people you’re in charge, you’re not.

I found myself walking on eggshells every day, trying to avoid setting off one of Mrs. Boss’ tirades (I’d heard her yelling at two very young workers, telling them they were doing everything wrong and they were stupid for doing it that way, not listening to their explanation that Boss had told them how to handle the project. They both quit within the week.). She had a tendency to slam her palm onto a desk and yell, which was not what I considered a Good Management Practice.

Eventually I had to submit my letter of resignation. I didn’t want to leave, since I’d liked the job up until she’d come along, but it became obvious that she wasn’t leaving, so I had to get out of there. I took a job that’s less interesting but pays better, and now I can breathe while I’m at work.

It was a difficult choice, but sometimes you have to get away from mean and disruptive people for your own peace of mind, even if you face a short-term cost.


#2. 180° – or at least more than 90°

If there’s a negative noun you’re stuck with, try to turn it toward the positive. Go all Pollyanna on it!

One night I was walking with a neighbor across the condo complex where we lived. We were headed to a meeting of our HOA’s Board of Directors. My neighbor was upset about an issue that was bound to come up, and she was going on and on about it as we walked. Finally, I put a hand on her arm and stopped. She turned to see me gazing at the moon, which was shining on us from between a couple of palm trees that were swaying gently in the breeze. It was maybe 73° out, clear and quiet. I said, “Look at that. We live in one of the most beautiful places on this planet.”

She was silent for a moment, then said with tears in her voice, “This is why I hang around with you. You always know how to make me feel better.”

Once the meeting started she was able to handle her issue more calmly because she’d arrived in a better frame of mind.


#3. Start From the Positive

A guy at work was in my office one day looking at paperwork for a project that had him stressed. I don’t even remember what I said, but suddenly he looked up, stared at me for a minute, then asked, “How can you be so goddamned happy all the time?”

I smiled and replied, “’Cause I get to work with people like you!”

He stared for a couple of beats longer, then mumbled, “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

I patted his back and said, “When you do, you’ll be happy, too.”

Approach new experiences expecting them to be pleasant. A smile on your face or in your voice will lighten the mood of everyone around you. If you go into a situation planning to be downtrodden or even just unhappy, you will be.


#4. Do Things That Make You Happy

I’m a big fan of karaoke. I don’t know who invented it, but if I ever meet him I’m gonna shake his hand and give him a chocolate bar. Yes! Karaoke makes me happy enough that I’d even share my chocolate!

I don’t get to karaoke every day, but I go a couple of times a week – usually to the same places, but sometimes I try out a new one. I’m a pretty good singer, and one of my favorite parts is when people I don’t even know come over to tell me that they enjoyed my song. I also like when they applaud, but honestly my very favorite part is when people are sitting around, chatting and eating and laughing, then I start to sing and they Shut Up And Listen. That is an incredible rush! I can pull upbeat and positive vibes off that for a week!


Which brings us to #5. Make Upbeat and Positive Comments to Other People.

Some of the folks who “do karaoke” can’t sing. They’re dreadful. Tone deaf. Sure, some are just “not very good,” but others are truly pathetic. You’ve seen American Idol auditions – oblivious to reality, these people think they’re great. They’re not. But they’re trying! It isn’t easy to stand in front of a roomful of people and perform when you’re good at it – these folks face the added strain of being painful to their audience.

My mama (and yours, too, I’d bet) always says, “If you can’t say something nice about somebody, don’t say anything at all.” I was never a quiet kid, so I had to find ways to talk around people’s lesser qualities. When a bad singer walks past me to return to his or her seat I’ll say something like, “That’s a beautiful song.” or “I haven’t heard that song in ages.” This person has been through enough of an ordeal just getting up there; I don’t want to insult the poor soul for trying. I also don’t want to lie, so I avoid actual compliments.

My policy at karaoke is this: I applaud for everyone. Sometimes because they were good, and sometimes because I’m glad they’re DONE!

Well, that seems to get us a Top Five List, rather than Top Ten. We could look at this as not getting the whole job done, but we’re going to refer to Point #2 instead, and turn it around by saying that I finished my list in only half the time!

And now that you’re done reading it you have extra time, too. Spend it on putting these points into practice.

Smile at people.

Say upbeat and positive things to them.

Be happy.

Eat chocolate.

Becoming a writer

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When I started this blog, my plan was to post articles until I’d written enough to lump them into an ebook and retire on the royalties. Or maybe buy a candy bar, but at least I’d be a published author! Then, when I did retire, the book would give me the credibility I’d need to start a brilliant writing career. You see, I wanna be a writer when I grow up. No! Make that read, ‘I WILL be a writer when I grow up.’ Yeah, that’s better. Writers have to be optimistic

Then I learned that articles you’ve published on your blog are not eligible for submittal to many (many!) writing contests. Since winning writing contests would also give me credibility (along with a few bucks), I decided I’d write new articles, enter them, and then put them on the blog after they’d won. (Of course they’d win – be optimistic!) So now I’m going to write shorter posts for this blog – more like ‘background color’ for my soon-to-be-prolific career. Then you, my loyal readers, will be able to tell everyone, “Oh sure, I’ve been reading her blog since she started.’ You’ll be part of the in crowd!

Actually, ‘background color’ is going to be my biggest problem as a renowned writer (she said optimistically), since I try to keep a low profile in life. I grew up in one of those small Midwestern communities where everybody knew everything about everybody and their whole families – including third cousins twice removed who didn’t live within a thousand miles of the place. My brother once said that Mom wasn’t ‘tuned in’ to the local grapevine; she was on its Board of Directors. Once, in about 4th grade, I came home from school to find myself in trouble for stomping through puddles while wearing my good school shoes. Mom had not seen me commit this infraction; a classmate’s mom had, and she’d called my mom. How come adults don’t get in trouble for tattling?

I never liked the everybody-knows-everything policy, and nowadays I work at staying under life’s radar. Becoming widely published will bring my visibility back up, and I’m not looking forward to that part. Fame and fortune are fine for some people, but I’ll stick to just fortune. Lots of fortune, please.

A pseudonym will help, but there will still be book signings and TV appearances and photo shoots and walking the red carpet at the premieres of movies made from my books, and here we are back at that optimism thing again, aren’t we? Well, watch this space for additional bouts of hopeful confidence, and keep your fingers crossed that they’ll turn out to be justified.

I need a new helmet for my trike.

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Well, technically for my head, but only when I’m on the trike. I’ve had mine (the helmet, not the head) for about 5 years now and it’s starting to look a bit shabby. The shiny blue plastic part that covers the black foamy stuff (sorry if I’m overwhelming you with these technical terms) is cracked in many places and pieces of it have already fallen off. It looks like pretty much everything else that spends a lot of time in the Arizona sun.

damaged helmet


When I told Biker Buddy he said, “Doncha have any tape?” He showed me his helmet, where he’d “fixed” cracks in its shiny plastic stuff.
I told him, “I’m a girl. I’m not gonna slap duct tape on something and say, ‘This looks great! I’ll happily wear this out in public!’” He laughed.
So we rode up to Wal-Mart to find me a new helmet. Biker Buddy was all set to cover things like how does it fit and is it adjustable and how does the cost compare to the quality – I was focused on what color is it. We’re a team that way. We found about 30 types of helmets on display! Many bright colors and patterns! Jackpot!


helmet with shiny tiara


Unfortunately, most were sized for Ages 3-5. I may be a kid at heart, but ‘at head’ I wasn’t gonna get the protection I needed from a tiny helmet. Nor could I use the Ages 5-8 group, nor even most of the 8-14’s. There were some Ages 14-Adult options, but they were all blatantly boring by comparison.
So we rode off wearing the helmets we’d come in with.

Mine still sans tape.

A week or so later I was riding to the grocery store. Second gear had been giving me trouble, so I stopped at my favorite bike shop, which was conveniently on the way. Dale took one look at my trike, whipped out a wrench, and fixed it on the spot. He said there’s an adjustment window by the chain (on the part I like to call “the transmission”) that has two bars and a dot. The dot is supposed to be right between the bars when the trike is in second gear. Mine was off-center. Story of my life.

As long as I was there anyway, I asked him where would be the best place to get a new helmet. He said, “I got helmets right here.” I was astonished! I’d been in his shop many times and I’d never seen helmets. He took me inside and pointed to a couple shelves loaded with brown cardboard boxes. Not one helmet was visible! None on display. No wonder I didn’t know they were there! I told him this wasn’t exactly a perfect marketing strategy and he said, “They don’t get dusty this way.” As he walked toward the shelves he asked if I had a color preference.

I replied, “Bright, shiny, flashy …”

He gave me the same look Biker Buddy gives me almost daily and muttered, “I should’ve known.” He didn’t really have any that “fit the bill,” but he had a pearly white one with some subtle not-quite-flowerish-things on it that wasn’t ugly. It was more expensive than the ones at Wal-Mart – even the ones that fit – but not by a whole lot. I told him I’d keep looking.

a pearly white helmet

official helmet, pearly white

Dale then told me a story of helmet history. He said that at one time helmet makers had offered something called “helmet covers”. You could buy the black foamy part in the appropriate size, then get a shiny plastic thing that snapped on over it. There were many styles, and you could even get one custom printed with your own design. I was thinking, “This is what I need!” until he went on … They had to discontinue that program because people who fell while they were wearing those helmets often got broken necks. Seems the shiny, glitzy, fancy part would pop off on impact with, say, pavement, leaving just the black foamy stuff. That’s the part that really protects your head from said impact, but it isn’t slick or slippery at all. Doesn’t slide upon impact. So it would grab the pavement and stop. You’d still be in motion, so your neck would break as you flipped right over your helmet. Your head wasn’t hurt, but your neck didn’t come through nearly as well.

I told him that was a lovely story and I left – but all the way to the grocery store, and then all the way home I couldn’t stop thinking about the spots of black foamy stuff exposed by the missing blue plastic on my helmet. I rode very carefully.

Later I was telling Biker Buddy about all this. I said I thought I’d go ahead and buy the pearly white helmet. I hadn’t seen anything I liked better (at least not that would fit). Besides, Dale’s always helping me with the trike (fixed second gear!) and it pays to shop local and all that. Naturally, by the time I made this decision Dale’s shop was closed, but he’ll be back. And then my head will be fully protected.

Just not fully decorated.

Biking with Debby

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When I decided to get a tricycle, I hadn’t been on any kind of bike for about 12 years. That was the time my friend Debby and I had agreed to go riding with our new friend Lisa and her husband, who were avid cyclists. (I don’t remember his name, but it probably doesn’t matter since they’re divorced now anyway.) Neither Debby nor I actually owned a bike, but we were the strong-willed, independent take-charge kind of gals who would not allow such a trivial detail to stop us.

Scottsdale, AZ – where all this took place – has a gorgeous 22-or-so mile bike path running through it, and there was at least one place along that path where you could rent bikes. So Linda and what’s-his-name in their little SUV with the sturdy and functional bike rack carrying their official and expensive bikes, and Debby and I in my little ’88 Chevy Cavalier, which wasn’t much bigger than a bike now that I think about it, set off for the bike rental place.

After perusing the selection carefully, Debby and I decided to go for a bicycle-built-for-two. We were promptly informed that it was correctly known as a “tandem”. (What’s-his-name was big on  the lingo.) Linda and what’s-his-name tried to talk us out of it, saying it was difficult to coordinate riders on a tandem, and both starting and stopping were tricky, and we were novices, and on and on. We took it anyway, based primarily on Debby’s incredibly logical proclamation, “It’s cute and we will look good on it!”

The bike rental clerk took our drivers licenses, made us sign papers essentially saying that if we were maimed or killed we’d still pay for repairs to the bike, handed us helmets, and instructed us to have fun. Debby and I can have fun pretty much anywhere, so we didn’t see a problem with that.

If we’d had a video camera we probably could have won the $100,000 from America’s Funniest Videos just for the part about getting on the bike. By the time we were boarded we were all sore from laughing so much. Well, all except what’s-his-name. He took his biking seriously, and kept instructing us in clipped tones as we laughed not only at our own ineptitude, but also at him. Apparently he hadn’t been listening when the bike rental clerk told us to have fun.

We finally got started, but we weren’t moving any too fast so Linda and what’s-his-name quickly left us behind. I was on the front because Debby didn’t want to be responsible for changing gears. It wasn’t long, though, before we figured out that I was not particularly effective in front. I am long-waisted, which is a nice way of saying my legs are short. The seat was lowered as far as it could be, but this was a pretty big bike and I was losing touch with the pedals about 3/4 of the way down. I’d push each pedal hard when it was at the top, then try to catch it again when it came back around.

So we stopped the bike – far more smoothly than what’s-his-name would have expected – and switched seats. Debby got us to a sort of middle gear and then just left it there. I was contributing more to the actual propulsion of the vehicle now, so we were moving along pretty well and dutifully following the clerk’s instructions by having fun.

We hadn’t seen Linda or what’s-his-name since we started, but we kept going, knowing they were ahead of us somewhere.

Since we were in Scottsdale, the weather was beautiful. It was nearing dusk, so we didn’t have to worry about sunburn, and the air had cooled off to about the mid 80’s. (In Scottsdale that’s just short of sweater weather.) And with the breeze created by our movement, we were feeling pretty good.

For a while…

Debby has always promoted exercise as being a spectator sport, and the only exercise that interests me involves a happy ending, so neither of us was what you’d call “in shape.” Add the fact that we hadn’t been on bikes since high school and you see why we got to huffin’ and puffin’ in a pitifully short time.

We came down a gentle hill – grass on both sides of the path, kids playing with a ball off to our left, a family having a picnic on the right – basically an idyllic scene, and suddenly Debby said, “uh-oh.” I leaned to look past her and saw the problem: at the bottom of our little hill was about 40 feet of flat ground, followed by what appeared to be a HUGE uphill climb. Now we may not have been professional bike riders, we may not have been seasoned, or in any way experts, but we knew immediately what we had to do. We coasted to the base of that mountain, got off the bike, leaned it against a light pole, stripped off our helmets, and fell face first into the cool grass.

We were sprawled that way, panting, when Linda came back looking for us. She started freaking out because she thought we’d crashed the bike and been thrown off! We pointed out that the bike was upright against a pole and our helmet straps were in our hands, and she calmed down.

We then politely informed Linda that she and what’s-his-name could ride for as long as they liked, but we were taking the tandem back to the rental place and we’d meet them in the bar next door to it. We now deemed it a brilliant marketing strategy to open a bar next door to a bicycle rental place, and we intended to reward the bar owner for his entrepreneurship.

But mostly we just did NOT want to go up that hill!

My story begins …

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the way many stories told by women begin: I met this guy.

The guy in my case is an avid biker, by which I don’t mean motorcycler, I mean actual bicycler. Somehow he got me interested in biking, too. I hadn’t been on a bike in (literally) years, but now I’m practically an addict. I work four days a week, and much of the year I can only ride on the other three, since it’s either too hot or too dark to ride before or after work. I find myself looking forward to rides like a child looks forward to a birthday. Absolutely not what I would have expected of myself before I met the aforementioned guy! I call him “Biker Buddy” and he is an incredible biker. I would probably have given up on riding by now if it wasn’t for him. I have even gotten to where I’m comfortable riding by myself sometimes, but if I’m going very far I prefer the camaraderie of having him along. It’s a security thing, too. We don’t live in an isolated area, and many drivers are not on the alert for bikers, so riding can be dangerous – all the more so if you’re alone.

I’ll have to admit here that I didn’t exactly become a “bike” rider myself. I went one wheel higher and got what’s called an “Adult Tricycle”. It’s the kind of vehicle you usually see in trailer parks whose residents are politely described as “55 and older.” One wheel in front, two in back, with a big basket between the rear ones. That basket has been a great asset in hauling things home from yard sales, the plant nursery, the local tree with ‘free all you can pick’ grapefruit, and many other places. As noted, I hadn’t been on a bike for years, and I’m not some 20-year old Barbie doll, so I wasn’t completely comfortable with the ‘balancing myself on a bicycle’ idea. I’m a 50-something, full-sized (or more) woman on a tricycle, and apparently that makes me an anomaly around here. There are other bikers out and about, but I’m the only triker we see. Also, I added a brim to my helmet and I clip a rear view mirror onto my sunglasses, and those seem to brand me as unique, too. Biker Buddy says that when he rides by himself drivers never wave him across at intersections, but when I’m along they almost always do. I told him that’s because they want to watch me cross in front of them! It’s a pretty sure bet that they’ve never seen anything quite like me.

Silhouette of trike and bike

Me and Biker Buddy

Biker Buddy has been a very sweet, understanding, patient, downright gallant fellow as I’ve been learning to ride. At first we would have to stop every 10 minutes so I could drink some water and just breathe a while. My endurance and stamina have since improved, and now we don’t do that nearly as often. But he has never complained. He’s never chastised me or called me weak or made me feel bad about detaining him. He could have ridden to wherever we were going and back 4 or 5 times in the time it took me to get there just once, but he never mentions it. And he’s very knowledgeable about bike (and trike!) maintenance, so he’s been invaluable there, too. The best accessory I’ve ever gotten for any of my trikes has been Biker Buddy. He’s the man! He’s marvelous! He’s spectacular! And he’s probably reading this, so I have to be complimentary if I want him to keep riding with me …

This blog will be a series of stories about adventures Biker Buddy and I have had on our excursions. One of my goals in life is to be not boring, and that has been known to get me into some odd situations. Ever since I got my first Adult Tricycle, I’ve been bringing Biker Buddy along for that ride. All of these stories are my memories of the actual events. If you were a part of any of them and you remember things differently, write your own blog.

Now kick back and join us as we ride – me on my trike and he on his bike, which puts us On5Wheels …