Category Archives: humor

HOPPY WINS THROUGH

Wendy and Jack flew to Albuquerque this week. They may be a little tired.

The weather out of Denver was windy. Very windy. Hoppy, the bunny conferred with his colleagues Cortez the sea turtle, and Peachy the red fox. All three graced the tails of Frontier aircraft, but only Hoppy’s was scheduled to go.

The raccoon wasn’t there

“It’s windy,” said Hoppy, his ears laid back.

“No shit,” said Cortez. “You still gonna fly?”

“Gotta get these passengers to Albuquerque.” Hoppy’s nose twitched in the general direction of the people shuffling onto the plane, clutching bags and hats against the breeze.

“Well,” said Peachy.

“Nice knowing you,” Cortez added.

The plane took off, almost immediately jacking sideways against the currents. Inside the cabin, a child began to wail. Hoppy folded his paws and waited.

The flight was only 56 minutes. As the craft reached cruising altitude, the turbulence eased. The child ceased screaming. Hoppy breathed a sigh of relief. So did the passengers.

With twenty minutes to go, the pilot sent the flight attendants a message: fasten in, it’s going to be a rough landing. The chief flight attendant told the passengers that if they wanted to go to the bathroom using an actual toilet, now was the time and that would be appreciated because otherwise they would have to clean the seat if they didn’t. The passengers were not amused, but several with small children got up and were promptly sent back to their seats because federal aviation regulations prevent queueing at the lavatory while in the sky.

Hoppy watched everyone buckle in. His nose sniffed the wind. And pee from a couple of children who hadn’t made it.

The plane’s nose dipped. Hoppy squatted on his haunches, a look of steely determination on his face.

“How’s it going?” Peachy’s voice came in through Hoppy’s antenna ears.

“Looking grim. I’ll see them through, Peachy.”

“You always do,” said Peachy. In the background, Cortez the turtle sang “Sooooo long, it’s been good to know ya.”

Inside, the passengers began to tighten their belts and look nervously out the window. Hoppy turned his ears toward the control tower and heard “… too much crosswind so circle around.”

The plane banked sharply left. Inside, the child began screaming again.

Hoppy hunched over the wing, gripping tightly with his paws. “I’ll see them through, no matter what,” he muttered, and began to battle the wind. Left, right, up, down, his paws flexed flaps and pulled levers, ears flat against his head, whiskers pointing due north.

The plane descended, hit an air pocket, and bounced. The screaming child was joined by several passengers.

“Fuck,” said Hoppy, and regained his footing, using his lucky rabbit feet.

A final dip, a swift correction, and the plane bounced once on the runway. Hoppy pulled hard on the brake, whiskers and ears flat against the wind. The plane stopped. The child stopped screaming. So did most of the passengers.

Hoppy wiped sweat from his furred brow and adjusted his ears.

“Everything all right over there?” Peachy’s voice came in loud and clear.

“Just peachy, Peachy. I got them safely in.”

“You always do, Hoppy,” Peachy said.

In the background, Cortez spoke. “We said a fiver, you cheater. Pay up.”

Leave a comment

Filed under bad writing, book reviews, humor, small town USA, Uncategorized, Wendy Welch

The Monday Bike Ride

Someday I will have time to read a book again. This month won’t be it. I literally forgot I’m in Albuquerque for a week; who forgets that they’re flying to Albuquerque?

Perhaps I can read a book on the plane….

Meanwhile, my Monday mornings start earlier these days, with a 6:15 a.m. cycle class. The first time, I arrived late, they had started, I got the wonky bike with no time to learn to use it, and the class was terrifying.

The next week, I arrived early for an orientation, got the swanky bike that tells you how many calories you’re burning, how many miles you’re traveling, and how hard your body is working, and the class was terrifying.

The instructor told us to set goals for the class. By week three, I had two: do not fall off this bike, and do not throw up.

The class is just on the edge of too hard for me, and after the first-time disaster, the only thing stopping me from a quiet quit was Becky, the teacher. Becky is one of those instructors you wish you could hate. Perfect hair falling in glorious beach waves around her face, you could add a watermelon to the scale and her weight still wouldn’t reach three digits. Barbie-esque in perfect exercise wear, she exudes confidence and strength.

And gosh darn it she is one of the kindest, smartest people you will ever meet. Which is annoying when you really need to hate her for doing this to you about halfway through a class where the bike is going 85 RPM with 8 resistance, and she says–in that reasonable tone that makes it sound like the best idea in the world–“OK, now I know your legs are on fire so we’re gonna get some relief and stand up, weight over the pedals, up you get, it’ll be great…..”

Have you ever (in adulthood) stood up on a bike going the equivalent of 65 miles per hour? It is an exhilarating experience, but only in the sense of survival. It can be done, despite images of my body hurtling across the room at said 65 mph.

Becky knows just what to say, when: at the beginning of class, “(mildly sarcastic tone) Come on, you don’t start your Monday morning this early for that little effort”; mid-way through, when we are all huffing and grasping blindly for water bottles, “(soothing voice) Give it what you got; you’re not competing with anybody but yourself”; and at the end of the class when we do the sprint speed spurt, “(exuberantly) You and your friend are on the flat stretch and it’s hot and you’re going to the pool, move, move, move! The faster you get there, the sooner you can get in the water!”

Becky sits with perfect posture and shouts these perfect encouraging words to the rest of us as we wilt across handlebars, trying to remember how to breathe.

So yeah, we love Becky. At the end of class last week, she said to me, “I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” Being a words girl, I hesitated over the word, “enjoying,” but you know, when the music is pumping and she’s urging us to find that rhythm of pedals against the beat of the song and we’re burning a calorie every seven seconds and everyone is climbing that hill together, no competition, just you and the bike and Becky’s voice exhorting, “You are strong, you can do this, there’s a reason you get up so early,” well, yeah, okay.

Enjoyment.

Leave a comment

Filed under humor, Life reflections, small town USA