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R. Linda:
Notwithstanding, I be one of those people who happen to think bicycling is a good mode of transportation. I think I more than proved that when I picked up me cousin at Logan Airport last year. I know you remember THAT. Also, being an Irish lad, born and raised on the emerald isle, that was me main mode of transportation as well.
Begorrah me (and let me say this, no one in Eire says begorrah me, but American's seem to think we do, so I do it just to make them happy), I did start a trend that at Logan. When I went home to Ireland this last time, me sainted cousin Sean (of airport fame), was late for one of the many family reunions I was subjected to. On this particular day, we had gone up to the Giants Causeway for a bit of a picnic-by-the-sea. It was one windy day, paper plates flying like UFOs all about, and into the water where they would bob in the waves like huge white jellyfish.
Once we got food on what was left of the plates, and they were sufficiently weighted down, there was no more Frisbee-like UFO movement to be had. Until of course the food was near off of them and once again, off they would skip in the windy conditions looking like UFOs that had skimmed some swamp, dripping potato salad, bits of pimentos, bread crumbs caught in leftover salad cream, or the remnants of lettuce or what-have-you dripping off.
We were all asking the question, "Where is Sean?" when his sainted mam told us since he'd been to Boston to visit yours truly, he'd come back and taken up biking. Not motor biking, peddle biking. She informed all and sundry that Sean had recently purchased a fab bike at a sporting shop and was on his way. (Let it be known right here, me sainted auntie knows nothing of bicycles, so for her to be impressed, I knew instantly it must be a girls bike he purchased, for as we also know, Sean isn't exactly informed on many things including bicycles.)
Well, considering we were quite a ways from the vicinity where Sean lived, I estimated that we'd all be home and gone, and probably I'd be winging me way back across the pond by the time Sean arrived at the picnic area. Yes, I did think that, because we all know by now that me cousin isn't the brightest bulb in the box. However, his mam had a bright thought and did tell him to catch a ride instead, but no, he couldn't have that. His dream was for the entire family to be watching himself careening down the hill towards us all, with any onlookers admiring his Lance Armstrong-like form as he glided to a stop in front of his proud family.
In the course of waiting, me auntie did tell us he joined a bike group. You know the types, outfitted in Speedo spandex and helmets, feet strapped on bike peddles of sleek racing bikes and such. Seems Sean decided by joining he'd be out among fellow bike enthusiasts gaining wind and endurance enough to get around all Ireland for a marathon bike tour by the end of August.
We waited, and we waited, and no Sean. Finally, since the clouds were coming in off the water and it looked a great storm be on the way, we all packed it up and gave a last glance to the bobbing paper plates, and off we went to the family van as the first drops fell like ice cubes.
I was in the "family van" a vehicle I'm sure you would liken to the Partridge Family bus, and if that's what you thought, you'd be near right on. We call it a caravan. It was a leftover purchase from me da's hippy days with me mam when they travelled like Tinkers about ireland for the sake of peace and love, and the sanctity of unemployment (or as we call it drawing or being on the dole). Anyway, I sat there watching the rain pound the dirt as puffs of dust flew and in the background everyone was hoping Sean wasn't getting wet. Well, duh, If he was biking he most certainly was looking the drowned rat by this time.
In this fashion we were buzzing along (racing along would not be an accurate description since the old "family van" was hardly in racing form), and as we were coming down the hills we saw various groups of bicyclers in their spandex gear racing for shelter, but no Sean did we see until we came over the last windy, rainy hill. There was a group of bicyclers speeding by, green and black, red and black, blue and black and yellow and black spandex outfits with matching helmets, shoes and gloves, ah such a wonderful sight, the sleek bikes whizzing by us. We craned our necks to see if our Sean be among them, but no, no, he wasn't, but hark, there at least twenty lengths back was our Sean peddling for all he was worth.
How did we know it be our Sean? Well the bike helmet might have made us think otherwise, but there with blue dress shirt flapping in the wind, white undershirt soaked (not in rain but his own sweat), and long floppy black pants with elastics at the ankles and high top sneakers, heralded our Sean's usual mode of dress, except as I say for the helmet (which was his attempt at looking the professional biker). Even more recognisable was the fact he was peddling a neon green girls bicycle with plastic multi-coloured strips in the end of the handle grips, flowing in the wind, and as we went by we could hear the clacking playing cards he had clothes pinned to the spokes of the wheels. Only Sean would have a basket in the front with his stash of not Gatorade, but sannys and crisps. We where long down the road, Sean's reflectors winking out of sight round the last bend, before me sainted da pulled over and asked his sister (Sean's sainted mam), if she wanted him to turn the caravan around and go back after her only born.
"No, I should tink the exercise be good fer em' you see he be a buildin up fer his trip cross Eire, so I tink we should let him get on with it. Besides those clothes looked they needed a good washin'."
We left him to peddle all the way up to the Causeway and all the way back. No remorse did any of us feel since he was gearing up for a marathon in August. We were well fed and dry, and so all thoughts of Sean peddling for all he was worth, which isn't much, didn't phase any of the family.
I have, since I've been back to Boston, heard from Sean. It took him two weeks to get to the Causeway, something I was neglected to be told (he started on his way before I even got to Ireland so he could meet us for picnic), and it took him an additional two weeks and then some to finally arrive back at his house. He got lost as his group seemed to race into the distance and well . . . our Sean couldn't keep up. However, he's taken up another pastime, it is something he invented. While recouping his wind at the Causeway, he noticed an awful lot of paper plates in the water. He waded in, retrieved what he could of them, stuffed them in his helmet to dry and when the sun came out, he found they made excellent Frisbees. He is going to paten them says he, as Sean's Fantastic (and cheap) Frisbees.
I did mention to him that every so often I get a free Frisbee (a real one) in me cereal box, plus they are a buck at the park stand off the Boston Common. I think free and a dollar are very cheap meself, and plastic flies better than dried out paper with petrified food stuck to them. Well, he thought about this and rang me up to tell me, "I taught about what ya said there Gabe, on the flyin' abilities of plastic versus paper, and I must tell ya I tink yer wrong and I'm gonna sell em' for a bit more because I can paint em' bright sunny yellow with faces on em' and a big smile. You know like I'm tellin' em' to have a good day or somethin' like that. What do ya tink?"
Well glorious Jesus has he had his head under a rock? I did tell him the plastic ones came in a variety of colours, even glittered. I broke it to him, gentle as I could, that the yellow smiley face was patented. The phone was silent for a long time and I be calling his name into the receiver when he finally sighs and says,"Well Gabe, ya got a bit of an argy there I suppose, I tink I'll just forget yellow smile faces and go fer the UK flag and Irish flag colours, unless you tink another way I can get me a few more Euros."
What could I say? I told him to go for it and when he made his first million Euros to give me a ring and I'd find an importer for his goods in Boston. (Then you can bet your sweet arse I'll sell him the new expansion bridge and a few of Boston's new leaky tunnels. Of course I won't tell him they leak, I'll say they double as canoe lanes for those who like the boating experience).
"That would be wonderful Gabe, an American market. I tink I will do the very ting there Gabe," said he.
I've been back what two months? Any reasonable person would think he'd have given up the idea. But no, I made the mistake of mentioning it to Tinkerbelle (who, poor brain dead thing, thought it a wonderful idea), and right away she's been drawing designs on paper plates and mailing them over to me stupid cousin. Are these two made for each other or what?
I can only shake me head, he plans on selling them along the way of his marathon bike tour across Ireland in August, and this will pay for his food and lodging says he. Right he be. The best part of this, is he's fashioned a sort of seat on the back of his bike and this will hold the diminutive form of one wee Tinkerbelle, who he's invited to go along with him. I be wondering what his girl Rosie will think of all of it when she finds out that her beloved Sean is biking penniless across Ireland with a faery sitting behind him selling paper plates as Frisbees.
Stay tuned.
Gabe
Copyright © 2005 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
Notwithstanding, I be one of those people who happen to think bicycling is a good mode of transportation. I think I more than proved that when I picked up me cousin at Logan Airport last year. I know you remember THAT. Also, being an Irish lad, born and raised on the emerald isle, that was me main mode of transportation as well.
Begorrah me (and let me say this, no one in Eire says begorrah me, but American's seem to think we do, so I do it just to make them happy), I did start a trend that at Logan. When I went home to Ireland this last time, me sainted cousin Sean (of airport fame), was late for one of the many family reunions I was subjected to. On this particular day, we had gone up to the Giants Causeway for a bit of a picnic-by-the-sea. It was one windy day, paper plates flying like UFOs all about, and into the water where they would bob in the waves like huge white jellyfish.
Once we got food on what was left of the plates, and they were sufficiently weighted down, there was no more Frisbee-like UFO movement to be had. Until of course the food was near off of them and once again, off they would skip in the windy conditions looking like UFOs that had skimmed some swamp, dripping potato salad, bits of pimentos, bread crumbs caught in leftover salad cream, or the remnants of lettuce or what-have-you dripping off.
We were all asking the question, "Where is Sean?" when his sainted mam told us since he'd been to Boston to visit yours truly, he'd come back and taken up biking. Not motor biking, peddle biking. She informed all and sundry that Sean had recently purchased a fab bike at a sporting shop and was on his way. (Let it be known right here, me sainted auntie knows nothing of bicycles, so for her to be impressed, I knew instantly it must be a girls bike he purchased, for as we also know, Sean isn't exactly informed on many things including bicycles.)
Well, considering we were quite a ways from the vicinity where Sean lived, I estimated that we'd all be home and gone, and probably I'd be winging me way back across the pond by the time Sean arrived at the picnic area. Yes, I did think that, because we all know by now that me cousin isn't the brightest bulb in the box. However, his mam had a bright thought and did tell him to catch a ride instead, but no, he couldn't have that. His dream was for the entire family to be watching himself careening down the hill towards us all, with any onlookers admiring his Lance Armstrong-like form as he glided to a stop in front of his proud family.
In the course of waiting, me auntie did tell us he joined a bike group. You know the types, outfitted in Speedo spandex and helmets, feet strapped on bike peddles of sleek racing bikes and such. Seems Sean decided by joining he'd be out among fellow bike enthusiasts gaining wind and endurance enough to get around all Ireland for a marathon bike tour by the end of August.
We waited, and we waited, and no Sean. Finally, since the clouds were coming in off the water and it looked a great storm be on the way, we all packed it up and gave a last glance to the bobbing paper plates, and off we went to the family van as the first drops fell like ice cubes.
I was in the "family van" a vehicle I'm sure you would liken to the Partridge Family bus, and if that's what you thought, you'd be near right on. We call it a caravan. It was a leftover purchase from me da's hippy days with me mam when they travelled like Tinkers about ireland for the sake of peace and love, and the sanctity of unemployment (or as we call it drawing or being on the dole). Anyway, I sat there watching the rain pound the dirt as puffs of dust flew and in the background everyone was hoping Sean wasn't getting wet. Well, duh, If he was biking he most certainly was looking the drowned rat by this time.
In this fashion we were buzzing along (racing along would not be an accurate description since the old "family van" was hardly in racing form), and as we were coming down the hills we saw various groups of bicyclers in their spandex gear racing for shelter, but no Sean did we see until we came over the last windy, rainy hill. There was a group of bicyclers speeding by, green and black, red and black, blue and black and yellow and black spandex outfits with matching helmets, shoes and gloves, ah such a wonderful sight, the sleek bikes whizzing by us. We craned our necks to see if our Sean be among them, but no, no, he wasn't, but hark, there at least twenty lengths back was our Sean peddling for all he was worth.
How did we know it be our Sean? Well the bike helmet might have made us think otherwise, but there with blue dress shirt flapping in the wind, white undershirt soaked (not in rain but his own sweat), and long floppy black pants with elastics at the ankles and high top sneakers, heralded our Sean's usual mode of dress, except as I say for the helmet (which was his attempt at looking the professional biker). Even more recognisable was the fact he was peddling a neon green girls bicycle with plastic multi-coloured strips in the end of the handle grips, flowing in the wind, and as we went by we could hear the clacking playing cards he had clothes pinned to the spokes of the wheels. Only Sean would have a basket in the front with his stash of not Gatorade, but sannys and crisps. We where long down the road, Sean's reflectors winking out of sight round the last bend, before me sainted da pulled over and asked his sister (Sean's sainted mam), if she wanted him to turn the caravan around and go back after her only born.
"No, I should tink the exercise be good fer em' you see he be a buildin up fer his trip cross Eire, so I tink we should let him get on with it. Besides those clothes looked they needed a good washin'."
We left him to peddle all the way up to the Causeway and all the way back. No remorse did any of us feel since he was gearing up for a marathon in August. We were well fed and dry, and so all thoughts of Sean peddling for all he was worth, which isn't much, didn't phase any of the family.
I have, since I've been back to Boston, heard from Sean. It took him two weeks to get to the Causeway, something I was neglected to be told (he started on his way before I even got to Ireland so he could meet us for picnic), and it took him an additional two weeks and then some to finally arrive back at his house. He got lost as his group seemed to race into the distance and well . . . our Sean couldn't keep up. However, he's taken up another pastime, it is something he invented. While recouping his wind at the Causeway, he noticed an awful lot of paper plates in the water. He waded in, retrieved what he could of them, stuffed them in his helmet to dry and when the sun came out, he found they made excellent Frisbees. He is going to paten them says he, as Sean's Fantastic (and cheap) Frisbees.
I did mention to him that every so often I get a free Frisbee (a real one) in me cereal box, plus they are a buck at the park stand off the Boston Common. I think free and a dollar are very cheap meself, and plastic flies better than dried out paper with petrified food stuck to them. Well, he thought about this and rang me up to tell me, "I taught about what ya said there Gabe, on the flyin' abilities of plastic versus paper, and I must tell ya I tink yer wrong and I'm gonna sell em' for a bit more because I can paint em' bright sunny yellow with faces on em' and a big smile. You know like I'm tellin' em' to have a good day or somethin' like that. What do ya tink?"
Well glorious Jesus has he had his head under a rock? I did tell him the plastic ones came in a variety of colours, even glittered. I broke it to him, gentle as I could, that the yellow smiley face was patented. The phone was silent for a long time and I be calling his name into the receiver when he finally sighs and says,"Well Gabe, ya got a bit of an argy there I suppose, I tink I'll just forget yellow smile faces and go fer the UK flag and Irish flag colours, unless you tink another way I can get me a few more Euros."
What could I say? I told him to go for it and when he made his first million Euros to give me a ring and I'd find an importer for his goods in Boston. (Then you can bet your sweet arse I'll sell him the new expansion bridge and a few of Boston's new leaky tunnels. Of course I won't tell him they leak, I'll say they double as canoe lanes for those who like the boating experience).
"That would be wonderful Gabe, an American market. I tink I will do the very ting there Gabe," said he.
I've been back what two months? Any reasonable person would think he'd have given up the idea. But no, I made the mistake of mentioning it to Tinkerbelle (who, poor brain dead thing, thought it a wonderful idea), and right away she's been drawing designs on paper plates and mailing them over to me stupid cousin. Are these two made for each other or what?
I can only shake me head, he plans on selling them along the way of his marathon bike tour across Ireland in August, and this will pay for his food and lodging says he. Right he be. The best part of this, is he's fashioned a sort of seat on the back of his bike and this will hold the diminutive form of one wee Tinkerbelle, who he's invited to go along with him. I be wondering what his girl Rosie will think of all of it when she finds out that her beloved Sean is biking penniless across Ireland with a faery sitting behind him selling paper plates as Frisbees.
Stay tuned.
Gabe
Copyright © 2005 All rights reserved
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