This is a story about a biker going for a walk. Although that sounds pretty boring, it really wasn't boring at all for the biker in question.
Before we get into the story, though, I need to create a picture of the biker in your mind's eye. Good writers create pictures with words. Lazy writers just draw them.
Biker Bob? |
No, not Biker Bob |
Biker Bob |
If you're thinking that "Biker Bob" doesn't seem to fit this person so well, I understand. But my friend Dolly made it up, so it stuck. Dolly is the kind of person who can overcomes resistance to anything with a huge smile that includes dimples and outrageous enthusiasm.
When I lived in Gig Harbor a few years ago, a group of friends got together for activities such as hiking, nordic skiing, and bike rides. Because we were all of a certain age, 73.8% of the men in the group were named "Bob."
In this particular scene, 100% of the men are named "Bob." |
At first this was confusing. Then Dolly came to the rescue.
This concludes the "How Biker Bob Got His Name" part of the story.
Now on to the walking part. Bob and I used to organize bike rides for the group that were supposed to go something like this:
Instead, they went like this:
In the end, though, everyone made it to our destination, thanks to Bob and I putting an extra 60 or 70 miles on our bikes keeping people rounded up. Following each and every ride, Bob would say,
I'll bet you're wondering what this has to do with walking. Well, not very much in fact, but it does have a lot to do with Biker Bob's personality, which becomes important later in this story.
Our group of friends would often meet at my house, so Biker Bob got to know my two dogs, Rosie and Leo. When he learned that I took them on daily walks around Gig Harbor, he volunteered to come along. This is probably Bob's idea of what such a walk would be like:
Biker Bob's imaginary walk |
Instead, this is what a real walk was like:
And...
And...
Leo didn't always poop at the main intersection of town. Sometimes he pooped in the bank parking lot instead. And sometimes he pooped in both places. |
And at the end of each and every walk (yes, he actually went on quite a few), Biker Bob would say,
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That's our friend Bob, alright!
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