The Bike Bag

If you read my blog, Mother of 8, don't bother with this. Nothing new here.

With my health numbers not doing well and my financial health feeling somewhat threatened, I adopted the slogan "Burn Calories, Not Gas". First, I tried riding my bike the 2 miles to light rail for my work commute instead of driving to light rail. That went so well that after a week or two, I decided to try bicycling all the way (a whopping 6 1/2 miles). I have been at it for 2 or 3 weeks. Last week I had an experience:

Knowing that we were on our last gallon of milk, I decided to swing by Bel Air on my way home and buy a couple more. What shock when I got off my bicycle to find that my bicycle saddle bag (a $50 saddle bag with my bike pump, spare tubes, patch kit, umbrella, bungie cords and a few other things in it) already had (gotten off that, is) at an undisclosed location!

My first thought was to retrace my pedals to look for it. Then I realized, goodness! I am nearly home and backtracking will take another couple hours, go home and get the car. So I did. (with a prayer in my heart!) Good thing, too, because I had forgotten it was Wednesday and Benjamin had Youth Meeting.

Benjamin, sharp eyes, came along. I drove back the way I go to work, parts of the route of necessity different than the way home, and stopped at my office building. No bag by the bike rack, where I admit, today's evening mount up was a good bit shaky and it could have fallen off there. The building was locked so I couldn't check with the guards. I drove back home the way I rode earlier, including the detour through Wishing Well's parking lot to check their closing time (6pm Yes, I can go to Wishing Well on the way home if I so desire). No bag anywhere along the way.

After dropping Benjamin at Young Men Activity (sports night, they played whiffle ball), I was at home, when someone came unexpectedly to the door. A lady asked if Barbara Robarts lived here. She had my bag!

Audrey, who has often passed me in the morning along our route on T street and, in fact, passed me twice today, found my bag where T crosses the railroad tracks. The only identification in my bag (this must change) was the return address on a thinking of you note I wrote to my neighbor (who I think is in a nursing home) today. Audrey who is obviously observant, honest and kind, as well as much more fit than I, lives in my neighborhood, on Alcott, just a few blocks west of here.

Thanks to the Lord and Audrey, I have my bike bag back (and successfully stopped by Bel Air on the way home Thursday for 2 gallons of milk, a couple of cucumbers, and some green onions).