I'm at my parents', getting ready to go down to Newberg, as if for a children's play or something. There is a crowd of people going along, and we're getting in cars.

Somebody, I think my dad, has a van. He says he can fit all these people in but I think I'll need to take my van too. I mean, heck, there's like 15 or 20 people here and his van could only possibly fit like 8 or so. But then people start piling in, and everybody gets into his van except me and Joe.

I get out my bike, but it's in rough shape. The back tire seems to be flat, and I try to pump it up, but it won't inflate. Joe looks on, trying to help me get it going. I notice the front tire has a big hole in it too, like a melted-out area, but I don't mention this to Joe. I just say I've been riding it like this, I should get it fixed soon but it's just fine.

I get on, and as I ride across the patio on my way down the hill I think how much this must have been impacting my riding, and how easily I will cruise once I get the tires fixed.

It actually rolls pretty well down the hill, but Joe is cruising in a four-wheeled recreational vehicle, a two-seater, like the old Honda Odyssey that everyone wanted when we were kids. He buzzes along through the night with his arm draped over the passenger seat. I'm thinking I'd better hitch a ride back, because I'll never be able to get my bike back up the hill.