On the way home from The Pony's academic meet last night, we spied a bicycle in a ditch. It was on our county road. Houses are few and far between. Well, far between by city standards. Not, perhaps, by Wyoming or Alaskan bush standards. But far enough away that you can't see one house from another, and houses are mostly set back off the blacktop on private gravel roads.
The time was 6:50 p.m. Full dark in these parts. What was a bicycle doing in the ditch with no person in sight? Something was amiss. The Pony and I pondered the possibilities:
1. Somebody riding a bicycle was hit by a car, and was wandering aimlessly through the woods with a head injury. The Pony did not much like this scenario, as he had to disembark from T-Hoe to fetch the mail at our roadside row of mailboxes. By the woods.
2. A car hit the bicycle, and broke something vital. Perhaps a wheel-turny thingamajig. So the person caught a ride with the culprit, and left the bike.
3. A kid stole the bicycle for a joy ride, and abandoned it. A not-very-smart kid, though, because who abandons a stolen bicycle within walking distance of home?
4. The bicycle fell out of a pick-up truck while the person was taking it to a new home, or to ride on the state park trail.
5. The bicycle rider left the bicycle to go pee in the woods.
That's as far as we got. We're not freakin' members of Mensa. Or even Mystery, Inc.