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.
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2 comments:
Well, lucky for you that I'm here. I just so happen to be PRACTICALLY a member of Mystery, Inc. When I was wee I had my own detective agency. I trained my Springer Spaniel into a hound dog of the finest caliber. I would hide my little sister in the chicken coop and then give my dog her dirty sock; you know, so she could get her scent? Then the dog would run off barking somewhere and I'd forget what we were playing and my sister would finally realize no one was coming and - where was I going with this? Oh yeah, I am qualified to tell you, Watson, that the bike obviously belonged to a small, cute boy who was using it to rescue his E.T. friend and their Reeses Pieces and a pint sized Drew Barrymore. I don't why you didn't come to that conclusion; it was sort of obvious.
Lyssa,
That one escaped me. But you make me wish I had a chicken coop when I was a kid.
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