So yesterday, I had another close encounter. A close encounter of the geriatric kind. They're fascinating, but scary, I tell you.
A sweet looking old blue-haired lady pulled right out in front of me and proceeded to then crawl along at a snail's pace, regardless of the 45 mph speed posting. The whole time her right turn-signal was blinking steadily just to irritate and mock me. She also managed to drive the car while not being able to see over the dashboard.
It reminded me of my encounter a few years ago with Pedaling Gramps. I'd like to share it with you. This was a very real account, another close encounter, if you will, of the geriatric kind. Forget the lights in Mexico - they're already here, I tell you.
Has anyone else been harvested or held hostage by these creatures yet?
My Dearest Sister,
Thank you for your recent letters alerting me to the antics of the senior citizens in
your area. The car item was of particular importance and I did in fact, jot down a few notes that I too, might be more prepared for my next outing.
I do find it curiously interesting that a lot of those harmless pranks you have described in your last letter have been practiced with alarming frequency in my area of the country as well. We too it seems, have our very own chapter of Hell's Grannies and Gramps, as it were...
Now as a word of caution dear sister, I assure you these gray-haired panthers do not stop at driving just automobiles. Why, there is one chap in my neighborhood who has a rather unusual way of riding (and I use this term lightly), his bicycle around our busy town.
I believe that in some smaller, diabolical circles, he may also be known as "The Ringmaster of Impossibilities", but I get ahead of myself here. Do get comfortable, dear sister, grab your tea, and read on - for now I will begin to tell you the chilling tale of "Pedaling Gramps"...
How clearly I remember the first time I met up with this old gentleman...
It was none other than a sweltering, summer afternoon, just a handful of weeks ago. The children and I were roasting in our sun-baked car, sticking solidly to the leather seats from the perspiration running down our backs and from behind our knees. Patiently, we waited for the air conditioner to cool the overheated interior. We were on our way home from yet another mob-filled day at the community swimming pool, and were waiting at the crossroads of a congested intersection.
Mind you, our car was postioned first in a long procession of cars waiting for the light to turn green. My left-hand turn signal was blinking softly in unison with the other cars behind me - we all were waiting patiently for our turn to proceed.
Well, you can well imagine my shock and confusion when I first eyed something moving very slowly into view of my side door mirror. I craned my neck and squinted my eyes to get a better view. I couldn't help but stare with open abandon as the object of my curiosity came pedaling right past my open window and promptly parked himself in front of my stopped vehicle. Sister! Verily my jaw did drop open. "The raw nerve of him!"
Right there, directly in front of me, sat this rather crusty old gentleman in a wide-brimmed faded straw hat, nylon windbreaker and ankle length polyester trousers. He proceeded to boldly (albeit slowly) outstretch a bony, liver-spotted, pale hand to his left, in an effort to signal the direction of his venture. (In hindsight, I now realize that diabolical gesture was designed purely on his part to rile the collective emotions of all of us.)
It was also at precisely this same moment that I found myself personally entangled in this rather seedy and unnerving incident. Even now, as I recall and relate this account to you, I once again feel the hairs on the back of my neck rising.
It was clearly obvious that this...this.. taskmaster of impossibilities had deliberately postioned himself there just to wreak havoc unto all of us. With sheer agitation coursing through my veins, I wondered just how did this ancient old gent think he might be able to make it across not one, not two, but four lanes of traffic in the alotted time span. Surely, this woman driver was not about to sit throught yet another traffic light on that sticky summer afternoon.
I peeled my thighs away from the hot leather seat and repositioned myself as I pondered my options...
If I were forced to "rub out" a senior citizen in front of my three small children - well, so be it. No jury in the world would dare convict me. After all, I had already endured an entire day of whining small children with sticky fingers; a gaggle of hormonally challenged pimply-faced teenagers playing their "hilarious" game of let's-splash-the-sleeping-adult-sunbathers-with-accidental-bellyflops, all while being slowly simmered and sauteed in 97 degree heat and humidity. Oh! and let us not forget how I tried to fit my morning swim exercises in with some elderly bathers, as they swam their own version of "laps" in the adult pool. (Oy! but that is a whole other story in itself!) Well, of course, my nerves were just completely frayed by now. I ask you, dear sister, how much patience is one woman expected to have?
Anyway, what unfolded before me was, I am quite sure, something against the very laws of physics. Somehow this freakish old gent had discovered within himself and his rusty old Schwinn Black Phantom, a thing so totally bizarre...so..completely impossible, that I am convinced that it cannot be duplicated by the world society of modern scientists to this very day. But again, I get ahead of myself here.
Patiently, I sat behind my steering wheel and pondered the ramifications of this cleverly executed subversion. I also pondered my options. It was soon clear to me that my only real option was to sabotage the saboteur.
I studied the driver of the oncoming traffic lane, who was intent on studying the old man. He was shaking his head in quiet disbelief, having realized this ancient bipedalist was hell bent on crossing his path too, once the light had changed. Our eyes locked and we both exchanged glances of pure irritation over our immediate situation. We both knew that this was a venture best left to breathing people some thirty or forty years his junior. (If I am confusing you dear sister, let's just say this is one of the busiest intersections this side of the Mississippi.)
My eyes wondered from the old gent, to the irritated drivers, to the traffic light above, all in sequential acts of timing in anticipation for the coming event. Evil thoughts too, continued to cross my mind. I wondered how I could, in fact, pre-empt this coming attack. Obviously, being positioned closest in proximity to the enemy, the task was totally left up to me. The emotional survival (read: sanity) of my people depended on me.
Perhaps a sudden loud revving of my car engine, or a long ear-shattering blare of my car horn situated just three feet behind his bony old backside would dissuade him. I felt quite certain that even if the old guy couldn't hear my car horn, he would surely feel the vibrations of my revving car engine or, at the very least, smell my burning tire rubber. All in all, I thought one of these tactics would surely force him to abort his intended mission, and/or produce a full cardiac arrest almost immediately.
Unfortunately, in realizing the very real possibility of the latter situation, I must admit to you that I was instantly forced to shoo that particular game plan from my mind. Mental pictures of me kneeling on sizzling hot asphalt attempting to do mouth-to-polydented mouth with the appropriate chest compressions, (which of course, would snap his hollow brittle bones like dried twigs) on someone so musty and crusty and well, old... sickened, and then infuriated me.
He had me, damn him.
Double damn him. He had all of us!
There was absolutely nothing we could do - but wait.
(Oh, and wait we did.)
The moment of truth had arrived. His evil plan was about to unfold precisely as he had planned. The light changed. An audible hush immediately fellupon the area. The kids sat hunched forward, mouths agape. Pedaling Gramps was now getting positioned:
Right hand on handlebar, left hand on handlebar...
Right foot on pedal...
Left foot on pedal...
And there, I swear to you sister - he sat perfectly...well...balanced.
No movement....
Still -
no movement.
Fascinated, with open mouth and eyebrows raised, I looked over at the oncoming driver, and he too, sat looking at Gramps stunned. I looked to the four lanes of stopped traffic and they too, all sat looking at Gramps, stunned. All eyes were fixed on Gramps.
And still, no movement.
For what felt like an eternity, I then detected just the slightest hint of life stirring in the old man. His chest began to expand with one laboriously long breath. After his tired old lungs were inflated, he then willed his creaky old body into motion.
Initially I couldn't be sure, but slowly, slowly, the pedals did, in fact, advance - the old man was under way. Completely spell bound - we all then sat straight up in our seats, unable to turn away from this sight before us.
Motion, as you recall, is usually detectable by the naked eye. Usually I said, but not today - for today we were witness to - Pedaling Gramps.
It is safe to say, that slowly our irritation melted into morbid curiosity as we watched Gramps gather "momentum." Well, okay, I use that word lightly too, but indeed, something unusual was happening. What exactly it was, however, remains an enigma to this very day.
Irrefutably, the space between my flesh-eating bumper andhis bony backside did,in fact, increase by distance. Not once did ol' Gramps look up from the shimmering hot asphalt looming in front of him. And not once did his sun-shielded head waver from his evil task at hand.
A quick scan of the area made me notice that all eyes were still following Gramps, they then looked to the light, and then back again to the old man. Would he make it in time? Only the heavens above knew the answer to that one for sure. Would the thought of four lanes of rushing cross-traffic incite Gramps to put a little pep into his pedaling?
Most definately not. Gramps was king of the road, and boy, did he know it.
Now, as you might have suspected, Gramps did not make it across the intersection in time for the light to change. But that didn't bother ol' Gramps now, did it? Ooh nooo...Gramps reigned supreme over his own rules of nature. Here, time had no hold over him. Gravity had no hold over him. Here energy and mass - had no hold over him. (And obviously, social courtesy had no hold over him either.)
However, if truth must be told, we collectively began to experience a freakish sense of awe, and oddly enough, even a semblence of respect for the old guy. Actually, I might even venture to say we felt a small twinge of shame at our impatience with "The Ancient One."
We sat mesmorized. Not a single car moved, or horn blared, nor bird chirped, nor obscenity was yelled. In total silence, we sat captivated, watching him maneuver his rickety old bike to the other side. Why we even continued to patiently observe him navigate the slight turn, so as not to run into the curb.
Upon realizing his mission was complete, we awoke suddenly from his fiendishly hypnotic spell. The light turned once again, yet this time we had decided to take a lesson from Gramps and make our own rules of the road.
Regardless of the color of the traffic light, we seamlessly jockeyed for position to once again be on our way. Eachof usaccommodated the other in polite courtesy. With certainty, we felt a special kinship with each other having survived the hostage situation with old Gramps.
Unfortunately, no one seemed to enjoy the day's antics more it seemed, than the Ancient One himself. For as I raced past him, I caught a big ol' shit-eating grin peeking out at me from under his old straw hat.
Rest assured, dear sister, next time - I am so burning rubber.
Lovingly yours,
Flora
Momma bird scoped out the perfect setting - free rent, food and water - and what a view - overlooking the golf course. 
...sheltered under the deck, safe from sun, the rain, and the wind... 
Groucho, Chico, and Harpo were born! (Zeppo must have missed the stork flight) 
Here ye! Here ye! One and all - 
