Mr. Wobbles goes Downtown. Eats Bush.

Every once in a while Debra and I feel like going out to a bar. It doesn't happen as often as people think, but sometimes we feel the need to hang out and have a few beers and get a bite to eat. Usually there is a happy hour somewhere with drink specials and typically this happens on a Thursday for some reason. Fridays can be crowded with locals getting out of work so we prefer to have a little more elbow room on the off nights. Occasionally, if conditions are right and the mood strikes me, I may get a wee bit carried away and increase my consumption just a tad more than usual. I try to stay on this side of happy but once in a while I cross that border.

It was a Thursday full of work on the boat in the blazing sun and I was ready for a break. This break occurred around three PM which coincided with the happy hour at the local pub here in Brunswick. "Hey Deb! Feel like a happy hour?" Deb mentioned that we never had any lunch and I replied, "We'll eat when we get there"

We arrived by bike at four PM. Debra has her own bike but I have to use one of the marina loaners. The problem with the loaner bikes is that they get abused and some are in rough shape. The good ones become private property because the boaters lock them up at their dock, afraid they will lose their good bike and have to take one of the cripples for a ride. This is a problem because I only seem to get one of two bikes, Mr. Wobbles or Skippy. Mr. Wobbles has a bent rim in the back so when you ride it your butt does the hippy hippy shake. It's comical to watch. Debra and I rode to the grocery store one day and she was behind me laughing while Mr. Wobbles shook things up. Skippy has a limp left pedal which skips. Very annoying. My choice for happy hour was Mr. Wobbles.

We locked up our bikes in the rack near the bar in a little park like square and proceeded to the bar. We grabbed a couple stools and talked to the bartender about the craft brews. For me, the first beer is always quick, especially when it's about one hundred degrees outside. Within twenty minutes I was on my second pint. Debra, being the smarter of the dynamic duo took her time.

Another pint and Deb is talking to some guy named BooBoo and I'm jawing with the bartender about craft beer and wondering if they play anything else but country music here. BooBoo seemed a bit odd so I avoided that conversation and was about to head off to the bathroom when I noticed we only had fifteen minutes left for happy hour. Shit! Not wanting to pay regular pricing on beers I ordered a few more "beat the clock" rounds. I excused myself and took off for the head. Hmm, maybe a slight wobble in my steps. Those extra rounds may not have been a good idea.

Back at the bar Mr. BooBoo was creeping Deb out and she hinted it was time to go. Hating to leave any beer at the bar I downed what was left. I never said I was smart. We popped out into the remaining light of the day and headed for the bike rack. Nothing like fresh air to let you know how wonderful you feel. I was seriously considering leaving Mr Wobbles in the rack and walking but Debra was already on her bike and waiting for me so I got on and took off.

Mister Wobbles and I got off to a fast start and drove straight into a row of bushes at the base of a tree not twenty feet from the bike rack. I was laying there laughing while Debra tried to help me up. She asked if I was OK and I told her I was fine. Just a little wobbly. Damn you Mr. Wobbles. I decided that speed was my best option. If you want to maintain your balance then speed is better. Everyone knows that. So off I went.

I went so fast that Debra lost sight of me. I took a short cut down a side street to the main drag and crossed it without any traffic. I misjudged the ramp leading up to the sidewalk and hit the curb. Mr. Wobbles and I remained upright but the basket flew off the front of the bike and the cable lock went flying like a live snake into the bush. Damn it. After I retrieved my attachments I took another shortcut through an office park. Meanwhile Debra is stopped in the marina parking lot talking to security.

One of the Marina security staff asked Debra if she needed help. "Just looking for my idiot husband", she replied. The security officer laughed out loud as he drove away.

I cut through the buildings of this office park and had one grassy part to negotiate before I hit the marina parking lot. I hit the grass, found out it was dirt and my front tire dug into it and down I went. I literally hit the marina parking lot. Of course the basket and snake like lock went skidding down the pavement. Again I collected my attachments and dusted myself off. Nothing but a few scrapes, so I took off for our dock.

I dropped that ugly bike in the grass, cursing him and possibly giving him a kick or two in the spokes before I made my way to the cockpit of our boat. I listened for Debra and I heard her talking to one of our neighbors on the dock so I went off to sleep. Debra found me intact and sleeping like a baby in the cockpit. 

In the morning I woke up in bed nice and comfy. No headache, no worries except maybe where I left that damn bike. Deb said he was tossed in the grass near the dock, unlocked. Maybe I was hoping someone would steal the damn thing.

Should we ever decide to pop out to a bar again, Mr. Wobbles, Skippy or any other bike will stay on the rack. Debra said walking is much healthier and I have to agree.

A perfect combination of dehydration, no food, exhaustion and beer could have been trouble had I drove Mr Wobbles into a tree or a parked car. I was lucky. Lesson learned. The problem I have now is the whole Marina knows of me and Mr. Wobbles. Word travels fast around here. Now when I'm pulling a bike out of the rack I may get a "Be careful on that thing!" and a smirk.

Cheers! (in moderation)
PJB