Wiener on Wheels

A couple of weeks ago, someone asked me if wiener dogs had always been the dog of choice for my family and I said no. But then after I thought about it for a while, I remembered that both of my brothers had wiener dogs ... Jerry had one named Grindle, and Tommy had at least three that I can remember, Heidi, Gretchen and Munchkin. Mom and Dad had one named Cocoa, and for my son Matt's second birthday, we got him a doxie whom he promptly named Choo Choo. The first wiener dog the kids and I had was Cinnamon, and she lived to the ripe old age of 19. Then after the kids left home, my little fat buddy J.R. came along, and after he passed the now semi-famous Ollie moved in. My son Matt and daughter-in-law Becca have two wiener dogs, Andy and Chloe, and my daughter Meghann and son-in-law Barrett have two as well, Peanut and Pig. Brad is the odd man out when it comes to breed of dog ... from Ali to Julie to Max dog, Brad is a Labrador guy through and through. So let's see ... if my math is correct, that's 13 wiener dogs (that I remember anyway) over the years. I suppose that means we are indeed a multi-generational family of wiener dog lovers, which also means I unintentionally lied to the person who asked me if wiener dogs had always been the dog of choice for my family.

I've loved bike riding ever since I was a little kid tooling around on my awesome turquoise and white Schwinn bicycle. I rode proud atop the banana seat, my fingers gripping the ostrich-neck handlebars as the rainbow-colored streamers at the end of each one flapped in the wind. Even though I know now that my childhood bike was without question one of the ugliest bikes ever made, back then I thought it was without a doubt the most awesome bike in the universe ... and even more unbelievable to me now was that I thought I was the coolest kid ever when I rode it. I was never one of the cool kids, by the way, bike or no bike. I don't think I realized it back then, which is probably a good thing, but I was far too dorky and weird to ever be allowed into the realm of the cool kids. Now that I think about it, that's probably a big giant part of why I loved riding my bike so much ... because riding my bike made me feel cool even though I wasn't. There was a freedom that came with flying down Ormand Drive on that old turquoise bike ... the very special freedom that came with dreaming that I was more than I really was.

I'm ashamed to say that up until a week or so ago, it had been a very, very, very long time since I had ridden my bike. I used to ride almost every day, usually getting up before dawn and riding for several miles before I went to work, and I'm not quite sure why I stopped. I have a theory that I probably quit during one of my especially nasty depressive episodes, and I just never got back into the habit. I've ridden every day this week, but not because I'm willing myself to ride or because I suddenly had a renewed sense of discipline or burst of energy. I started riding again because of Ollie ... yep, my little wiener dog is the reason I started biking again. I woke up in the middle of the night one night thinking about how much Ollie loves to hang his head out the window when he's in the car, and then I started thinking about how much he would probably love to go with me for a bike ride. So I ordered him a pair of Doggles to wear and a backpack to carry him in, and last weekend we hit the trail together. And guess what? I was right ... Ollie totally loves it. And guess what else? The very first night we went riding, that same sense of freedom washed through me just like it did when I was a kid ... the very special sense of freedom that comes with dreaming that I'm more than I really am.

See, here's the thing friends ... I have no idea why climbing on a bike and riding down the trail with Ollie on my back makes me feel so good, but it does. I have no idea why I feel so free and unencumbered when I'm riding, but I do. I have no idea why my mind fills with dreams of being one of the cool people when I feel the wind on my face and the burn in my legs as I pedal, but it does. I have no idea why I experience such a rush of anticipation when I put on my helmet and gloves and walk my bike out of the garage, but I do. I decided tonight as I pedaled home in the cool night air that perhaps I never will know or understand those whys. And as I took Ollie out of his backpack and removed my helmet, I decided that maybe it's okay not to know or understand ... I decided that for tonight, dreaming that I'm more than I am is good enough. I mean, come on ... I'm a 56-year-old gray-haired crazy woman riding a bike with a wiener dog wearing Doggles strapped on my back ... I deserve to have a dream or two along the way.

Ride on, friends ... ride on.