Look Before You Laugh

Hello. Today’s blog is a little bit different from those you may have seen in the past. For starters, I, Lily Krone (aka Tim’s Daughter, or just That Girl With Glasses Who’s Sometimes in the Shop and Often has Food Stains on Her T-Shirt), am writing this post. Secondly, today’s blog is not so much an update or tidings of some exciting event as it is an amusing anecdote. So…here we go:

A couple of weeks ago, my dad (Tim), Ryan, Kim McGowan and I drove up to Grand Rapids for a cyclocross race in my dad’s car. The two bikes were on the roof rack on top of the car, as were the bikes’ front wheels. A few miles into our commute, when we were on the freeway, my dad opened the sunroof to check that the bikes and wheels were safe and secure on their mounts and noticed that Ryan’s wheel was shaking precariously in the rack. He said he was sure it’d be fine, but maybe we ought to pull over and check, just to be sure.

We pulled off onto the D Avenue exit, and Ryan reached on top of the car to tighten down his wheel. Within minutes we were back on the open road, with these yellow and orange trees and this green, green farmland just stretching out forever. My dad did another quick wheel check through the sunroof and noticed that Ryan’s wheel was still moving around more than we perhaps would have liked. We decided after some consideration that it could make it until we got to the race.

Just a few miles after that, my dad looked in the rearview mirror and began chuckling. It seemed that Ryan’s wheel had fallen off the car after all. My father gave us a play-by-play of Ryan’s wheel skidding along the highway. “It’s hit the road!” He laughed, “It’s hitting the guardrail! It’s in the median!”

Ryan, thinking that my dad was joking, peered up through the sunroof. “Tim,” he said, “my wheel’s still there…but your wheel isn’t.”

All laughter abruptly ceased and an expletive was heard emanating from the driver’s seat. I got the distinct feeling that maybe this wasn’t funny anymore. “We’ve gotta turn around,” he, my father, said, “do you see any of those emergency turnoffs?”

A few moments later we were using one of the Authorized Vehicle Only turnarounds to get to the other side of the highway. When we got to the spot that my dad imagined the wheel had landed, he pulled over, put on his hazards, and hopped out of the car. Ryan followed him and together they scurried across the highway and awkwardly hopped over the guardrail. They jogged down the median, searching for the wheel. To add to the humiliation that had already been felt, my dad tripped and fell in the wet grass. They continued on, though, for about fifty yards, until they located the wheel, which was significantly less damaged than my father’s pride.

My dad and Ryan returned to the car, wheel in hand, and we continued on our expedition to Grand Rapids, Land of the Single Stage Sewer System, this time with all wheels in the trunk.