“Honey,” I said to The Feeshko in my nicest voice, “remember how I didn’t get to go on my bike tour this spring?”
“Yeah . . . I remember that,” she replied.
“Well, I was thinking maybe I could take a quick four day bike trip next week in its place.”
“I don’t think so. The Corona Virus is still way too active.”
“I knew you were going to say that, but I have a great anti-covid plan.”
“What is it?” she asked with a little too much skepticism in her voice.
“Okay, here it is,” I began excitedly. “First of all, it’s only going to involve three nights . . .”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“No, hear me out on this. It will be ALL camping . . . wild camping. I’ll carry all the food I need so there will be no reason to have to enter a building of any kind. I will never get within six-feet of any other person, and most of the time I will be more like six-hundred feet or even six-thousand feet from anybody. I will have a bandana to cover my face though, in case of an emergency contact with humans, and I will wash my hands even more than I normally do while on a bike tour.” [I didn’t tell her that I normally don’t wash them all that often while on a bike tour.]
The Feeshko gave it due consideration and said, “I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem like the right time to be doing this. What if you crash and the person who comes to help you has the Covid?”
“The chances of either of those things happening are extremely remote. You know that. At least give it some thought.”
“Alright,” conceded The Feeshko.
That conversation took place just a few days ago and I was getting my hopes up that she would relent. In fact, I was pretty confident she would and I started working up a plan to ride up and down the bluffs of the Mississippi River valley, beginning and ending from my home, in the most socially-distant way possible.
Then she twisted her knee and there was a popping sound. She went to her primary doctor who referred her to an orthopedic doctor who ordered an MRI which confirmed she had torn the miniscus in her knee.
Now, I’m not suggesting she PURPOSELY did that to ruin my new plan. I mean, nobody would subject themselves to that kind of intense pain, walking on crutches, and impending surgery. Would they?
“So, do you think I could maybe do that bike trip real quick before your surgery,” I said, only half-jokingly.
I guess my consolation prize was today’s ride to Wisconsin. Could the year 2020 get any worse?