Daddy always says not to get him anything for Father’s Day…”save your money”, but he’s happy to have time together. And I’m sure he won’t object to a story.
The oldest of the five kids, I born actually born on Father’s Day, so this is a great place to start. Daddy was in college still, at San Francisco State studying mathematics, and working part time at a compounding pharmacy, hunting up odd ingredients, sometimes, for medications.
“Bring me a surprise, Daddy!” I supposedly said as he went off to work one day when I was two.
“What should I bring you?”
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.” Logic, a strong suit for me, even as a toddler.
Daddy brought me a cake.
So you can see, Daddy—that’s Charlie Ray to you– and I have been plotting together for decades.
Back in 1990, he had recently taken up bicycling and was looking for someone to go on a cycling trip with him.
“If Mama will take care of my girls, I’ll go with you.”
Who knew this would be the start of cycling for me?
I hadn’t been on a bicycle in years, but rode for about an hour every day in the weeks leading up to our adventure. Anticipation is always part of the fun, Daddy plotted our routes, figured the mileages. Got the snacks and the water bottles. Mama both prayed for our safety and took care of Jessamyn and Ariel.
He and I drove up to the Willamette Valley in Oregon—“it’s flat there!,” he said–and rode together for several days, always watching out for each other. I’d remind him to turn on the odometer, we’d take turns pumping our tires. We didn’t even carry locks, just made sure we could see the bikes from anywhere we were.
Hard to say which of us was more amused at being taken for a couple.
