Sunday, May 27, 2007

Tiggy's Last Reality Trip

Tiggy did manage to take her last reality trip in her wagon in April.

This is how she told the story to me prior to taking her fateful dive on April 30.

"It was a rare warm day in April, and mother decided that the guilt had gotten the better of her, and she would trundle me up into the wagon for a trip to Piermont.


"This is no mean feat," she told me, as we started off. This meant not only traveling 30 miles with me, an excess in 50 pounds behind her. It also meant hauling our little--or rather her big--butt up that nasty hill at State line.

No cutting through Lamont Doherty through the back gates this time--too steep. Tiggy Travel afficionados in the know --they KNOW about LD.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

She shoved me into the back of Paws and we headed off through the traffic of Fort Lee to get to Hudson Terrace. Miraculously motorists gave us the room we needed to proceed. Like magic, even on Floyd Road--that wonderful calm longcut to avoid the dangerous section of 9W between Palisades Ave. in Englewood Cliffs and Clifton (Clifton, Closter? I forget the name--the next major intersection heading north)--cars gave us the berth of a boat as if I were a child being carried in that precious cargo.

God knows, even if they knew it was a doggie, it just goes to show you that the little creatures being carried in a yellow carrier get more respect that grown cyclists, whose innocence is doubted, and indeed thwarted by motorists on the main.

I remained quiet for most of the ride, being scared to death at traveling at such speeds, enjoying the breeze coming through Paws' portals, and happy to finally be out of the house when Mother was on one of her many bike rides.



The only transgression we experienced was by other cyclist, who passed us over the double yellow line coming down Tallman hill leading into Piermont. When mother told her she thought it was dangerous, she said haughtily, "You were going too slow." She was wearing racing gear, and likely thought herself a better person as well as cyclist, enough to put us all in danger should a car be coming up the hill in the opposite direction. I would hate to see how she drives.

In fact we weren't going slow at all, but a lot of racers are quick to judge others not in racing gear, and doing something lifestylish, like riding with a family member, as tantamount to Freddishness, but it only shines their ignorance with a glaring light. Without the trailer, mother would be kicking her measly butt into the gravel.

Once in Piermont, mother had her Benepe bike looked at and it appeared to need a complete gosh darn (unprintable) overhaul, and mother walked out of there much poorer, with a new chain, new derailleur, and a bunch of other stuff that she would rather forget she told me, from the Piermont Bicycle Connection.


But I have to tell you, almost nobody treats me as well as Steve the owner of the store: he brought me water in a Waterford crystal bowl. Last time he fed me pasta with his own hands. (You see, not everyone is afraid of me. Those Who Believe, are not).

In the meantime we hobknobbed with her friends (see pics) and basically I enjoyed the attention, though I was a bit hot. We also got to walk (my legs were stiff) over to the muffin shop, and I enjoyed an entire corn muffin!

Thank God for Piermont, though to be honest with you, God is a human invention, and I only use that expression as a show of extreme appreciation.

After a bit more gabbing--I got to see my old friend big Mike Motorcycle Man, Al from Da Bronx, (whom I never met before), and Richy Rich of Major Taylor. Many marveled at my gorgeous coat of black hair, but I was damned hot and could not wait to get out of there.

As I presaged, Mother took us up State line hill, and a woman passing us said to her "You are a Goddess."

So that's what they mean when they say "Thank God," they really mean "Goddess?"

I thought so.


Back at home, I was happy to be stable on real ground with familiar grass and birds around me, to daze off into the horizon.

Love and Kisses,

Tiggy."

Editor's note: Tiggy may be sending messages from heaven. If she does, you'll be the first to hear about it. No, the second.

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