There’s an old gentleman who lives in my neighborhood. He rides a tricycle. Not a kid’s tricycle, but a tricycle made for full-grown adults.
If he rode any slower he’d be standing still, but he wouldn’t fall over.
“That’s you in forty years,” Sue said when we saw him the other day. That’s my wife, being her typical smart-alecky self as well as unusually optimistic about my long-term prospects.
I would like to think that in forty years I will be able to crank a tricycle up to at least 5 mph.
What she said got me thinking. More specifically, it got me thinking about the future.
I may be able to give up my road bike in another forty years or so, for example. I’ll miss it.
The mountain bike, which I’m not very good at handling, probably will be gone much sooner than that. I didn’t need the broken ribs and broken pelvis several years ago, and I certainly won’t want to go through that again when I’m well into geezerdom.
Somewhere along the line, I may need a little electric motor to help me up a hill. Whatever it takes to keep me out in the fresh air moving through the scenery, that’s what I’ll do.
I may even have a recumbent sometime between now and my three-wheel days. As much as I’ve mocked them in the past, if it’s a choice between a recumbent and a rocking chair, I will certainly pedal on.