The day to bicycle presented itself perfectly. After a few storms earlier in the week, Saturday morning shone bright. I talked my husband into a bike ride around Palm Beach Island after a morning choir rehearsal. We threw the bikes in the van, packed the bike pump, sunscreen, water, bathing suits, (just in case) and headed downtown. That's right, downtown is smack dab on the intracoastal - that finger of water that borders the east coast, usually separated from the Atlantic by a narrow island or peninsula. Our hundred year old brick church sits within sight of the shimmering sea.
Rehearsal for Handel's Messiah went quite well considering a smallish choir, organ and string trio. But we had one mighty conductor in my daughter-in-law. We said our goodbye's and looked forward to singing the next day on Easter.
Then, with a few shots of air in the tires, hats tied under chins, sunglasses, we were off! Careening through a few parking lots we merged onto the main coastal road, hung a right onto the bridge over the intracoastal waters. No point in straining ourselves, we walked up the bridge, then coasted gloriously down to the island, hair flying madly in the wind.
The Lake Trail is a sidewalk that lines the west side of Palm Beach Island, mansions on the right, glittering salty waters on the left. God's blue creation on one side, gracious homes on the other. One feels cheated if you miss the view on the opposite side you're looking. There's just not a bad view in any direction. Ideally, eyes should stay on the road. There were a few close calls from ignoring that basic driving rule. Too many pretty distractions.
We rode to the north point of Palm Beach island and reached a dock next to the Singer Island Inlet. There's always wildlife or natural wonders to see. One time we saw a bulbous manatee near the shore rocks. Today the clear turquoise water revealed yellow striped and needle nose fish skirting the pylons. Hot from our ride, the water looked inviting and cool.
Then, fump! Off blew my hat into the sea. To my surprise it floated close to the dock. My husband and I exchanged worried glances and before I knew it, he was emptying his pockets and handing me car keys, wallet and receipts. Off with his shirt and my Sir Timothy dove in after my hat, which by then had drifted further from the shore. My heart burst with pride, while a young couple witnessed with amazement my husband's chivalrous act. He grabbed the hat and swam sidestroke back to the dock. But triumph turned to discomfort quickly as he struggled against the current. His cargo shorts didn't help, adding resistance to his forward efforts. Finally, he reached the pylon for a brief rest, then paddled to the ladder.
The drama had left him winded and me worried that such a trivial thing as a hat had put my husband in danger. His toes bled from barnacle cuts. We rested, dangling feet off the dock. I surveyed the contents of Tim's pockets laying on the deck. Something was missing.
"I've got some bad news," I told him.
"What?" he asked, panting still.
"You didn't give me your cell phone before you jumped in."
Hubby reached in the lowest pocket of his cargo shorts and pulled out a soggy cell phone. Bummer. The $8 hat was not going to offset the cost to replace a phone, even though it was a basic phone. And even though the hat was a momento from Saint Augustine.
Shaking it off, Taylor Swift style, we boarded our bikes for a lovely ride back along the same Lake Trail and drank in the still sunny, cotton cloud day.
I tightened my hat strings under my chin and treasured how my husband, my hero, had taken a risk and rescued my hat.
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| This is not me, by the way. :) But we did this. |
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