He loves me
“In a Hicktown,
It's the way we get down,
In a Hicktown,
Yeah, in a Hicktown,” blared from the lopsided Ferris Wheel.
I turned into a coffee shop, time for the afternoon jolt to get us to our final destination - Minneapolis.
Larry drove the entire two days. It’s his bike trip after all. I was the map reader, the speed limit police, and the music/podcast selector, aka ‘the navigator.’
It was as the first hour on the road when Larry announced, “I know a short cut. I saw it on Google maps. You’re going to like this.”
A few miles in, the road was closed.
“Now what?” I asked.
“I’ll get us there.” He replied.
This is why I navigate.
Our first leg, July 4th - a holiday mind you, was to Omaha, Nebraska, driving underneath my old airspace at Denver ARTCC.
We lunched in North Platte. That’s Lima Bravo Foxtrot, for all you pilots.
Omaha was a beautiful as I remembered. We stayed in the super cute ‘Rose Cottage’ Airbnb. It was furnished perfectly including a giant fenced back yard for the dogs. The neighborhood was firework happy…360 degrees of sizzle, fizz, bam, blam, boom, and the cottage shaking KA-BOOM! Our dogs had never shown fear of loud noises; we sat with them on the porch during thunderstorms, and we traveled in Mexico where every day can be a firework celebration. But last night was their tipping point. Not until 3am when it got quiet could we persuade (as in drag them) outside to potty.
In my youth, my parents loaded up the car, tossed my brothers and I into the back seat and took off at 4 am. This gave them several quiet hours. My Dad drove and drove until he had to stop for gas or my Mom begged for a pee break. The only variable was lunch, which consisted of a quick pull-over if there was a rest area, Mom made sandwiches, we ate really fast, used the bathroom and had to be back in the car, pronto.
“Are we there yet?” Was not in our vocabulary. Not with my Dad.
On the second morning, we ate a leisurely breakfast, played with the dogs and hit the road at 9am. Larry drove and drove for eight hours with minimal stops, reminiscent of my childhood.
I’ve heard “I love you” more this week, especially the past two days, than the last eleven months. Kind of suspicious, if you ask me.
We stayed at a farm Airbnb in Hudson, WI, run by the sweetest family.
This morning Larry will resume his midlife/bucket list/old man bike ride. Somewhere in Minneapolis, somewhere as in, I have no idea. Larry will drive us there, unload his bike, and pedal off into the northeastern horizon.
Larry loves me, and I love him.
