As the four or so readers who caught this missive about flying back from Disney know, I absolutely adore my 11 year old daughter.  Going through a divorce, I have been seeking to look after her emotional well being, at times to the detriment of other, equally as important relationships in my life.  

This past weekend on the spur of the moment she and I went to Martha's Vineyard to spend time with my brother.  I enjoy it down there, but prefer avoiding the hassles of traffic and crowds and hence usually visit off season.  As we were heading out to catch the ferry, she asks to bring her bike along.  I said no.

Originally.

Then the lower lip quiver began, and she begins sobbing I promised she could take it the next time we went.  I do not recall that, but I did recall a bike incident replete with tears the last time down there in February when she rode with her second cousin who is three months older than her, given my daughter is the youngest of one generation and said cousin is the oldest of the next generation.

So I capitulated.

We were picked up at the ferry by my brother's mother-in-law in a PT Cruiser with my 4 year-old grand niece in a car seat.  There was no way in hell the bike was going to fit.

So there, in the zoo of the ferry pick up and drop off, I plop myself down on a bright pink girl's bicycle and say I will ride it to my brother's house about 2 miles away.

As I start a woman in a large SUV almost backs into me.  I yell out, "Ahahahaha, we're all going to die."

Butt in her mouth, the rather rough looking middle aged blond leans her head out the window and says, "No we won't.  We're all going to the beach to have fun."  Then she paused, laughed, and said, "Nice ride you got there."

No more than about 300 yards into the trek and I am weaving around parked cars trying to stay close to them due to the excessive traffic.  At this point someone lays on a car horn, which has me convinced I am about to be crushed into some overpriced, German SUV by whatever it was that was bearing down on me from behind.

It was Granny in the Cruiser laughing away as she passed, saying my daughter made her do it.  Tough to say whose laugh was more evil.

A little further down is a couple walking from the ferry who start to laugh at me, saying it was a good look.  I turn back to them as I coast down a small hill like a Russian Bear fearful his tricycle is about to pick up speed and careen out of control and say, "If I were in P-Town (Provincetown and a known gay enclave) I bet I would be the like the pied piper pedaling around on this thing."

 I paused for a bit, recalled the line from a notorious Seinfeld episode, and then blurted out as I made the turn into traffic, "Not that there's anything wrong with that."

Next up was a stop at a liquor store for a pack of butts.  Heading down a slight hill in traffic, I had a pick up truck full of twenty something males start razzing me telling me my daughter wanted her bike back.  All I could do was look at them, laugh, and go, "No shit."

I careened into the liquor store having to stop with my sneakers as well as the brakes given my tonnage compared to hers gave it added momentum for which the brakes were not equipped.  I laughed to myself on this one, figuring most guys riding their daughter's bikes around town were likely sporting a Mullet and decked out in a strappy wife beater T-shirt while awaiting trial on their fourth DUI arrest.  

I, however, was in a polo shirt and madras shorts (Martha's Vineyard camouflage to pretend I belong there).  Furthermore, I did not have two large plastic bags of returnables to exchange for a 40 Oz bottle of Miller High Life before hanging out under a pier sobbing into it.

Butts in hand, and one in my mouth  I have to  traverse a rather confusing intersection and get on the road again.  Having my knees practically up in my chest limited my darting ability.  

I found a window of opportunity across two lanes of traffic in front of a diesel bus whose air brakes rattled me a little when I underestimated how long it would take to get up speed on this thing.  Luckily the bus driver saw some humor in the episode.

The street cop stopping traffic for pedestrians looked upon me curiously as I weaved in and out two more lanes of traffic wobbling a little bit as I tried to get up sufficient speed.  He didn't say a word, and I made sure I did not make direct eye contact.

This made for some tough head positioning on my part.  I had to avoid the cop as well as the 50 or so pedestrians hanging out around a carousel and an ice cream stand who were pointing and laughing at me.  My dignity, at this point, had taken enough hits.

I finally hit the open road and was looking for the bike path that also cuts in front of my brother's road.  Alas, it does not start until out of the little village, which had me again hugging the white line on the far right of the road.

I came to another slight hill where there were six people on my side getting ready to dart across the road.  The alpha of that pack took one look at me, laughed, and put his arms out to hold back the rest of his flock.  As I passed this guy, he laughed and said, "You've got a downhill slope coming, and you need all the help you can get on that thing."

That would be my last communication with the outside world on the trip.  I was noticed, all right, but I put on a steely, anti-social look as if to broadcast to the world the message, "What?  You've never seen a 6 foot, 215 pound man on a girl's bike before?"

Pedestrians cleared ways.  Oncoming bikers bit their lips and looked away.

I tried to look as though pedaling this thing was not a difficulty.

I arrived sweaty with aching quadriceps to my brother's home whereupon I grabbed a towel to wipe my face, grabbed a diet soda, and plunked myself down in a chair where my daughter was sitting with my grand niece and her great grandmother, the latter of whom could not wipe the smile off her face.

I looked over at my daughter with a smile and simply said, "You owe me one, goof ball."

The fact she rode it once for about 10 minutes to and from the beach was immaterial.  The laughs along the way to myself and with others mattered not as well.

A little girl whose life as she knows it has fallen apart wanted her bike with her, and she got it.  When I told her she owed me one, she simply smiled back at me and said, "Thank you, daddy."

And it was the best I felt in a long, long time.