One wheel, no wheel, two wheels, no wheel.

As promised in last week's post, this post will contain various episodes of riding contraptions with sundry amounts of wheels and passengers. Due to the nature of our experiments with these vehicles, the pictures we include are live action shots.

Our first encounter with one of the aforementioned contraptions was on a Sunday afternoon. We had the opportunity of riding what is called a "tandem bicycle." A tandem bike is pretty much like a normal bike, except it has as many seats as wheels. Moreover, as luck would have it, not only is the number of seats doubled, but twofold also is the skill level required to operate the thing.

We never crashed the tandem bike, but getting it going required a third person to steady us as we started. This was not the ideal we had dreamed of. What about those joyful and happy couples that rent a tandem for two hours and blissfully ride around town? How do they make it look so peasy easy? Complete and utter lies.

Ronald Reagan and Virginia Mayo.

After returning from gallivanting around on a tandem bike, we turned our efforts to a different wheeled vehicle. This vehicle is called a "unicycle." As the name suggests, it has only one cycle. That is to say, in layman's term, it is very hard to balance, as it only has a single wheel.

Before actually attempting to ride this unicycle thing, we needed to inflate the tire. This posed a slight problem, as we had two partially working pumps, but no fully working pump. However, using our skills of engineering, we proceeded to construct a single pump from the two half working pumps.

As much as we tried to get up and go on the thing, riding a unicycle is rather hard. Maybe that is why no one ever asks girls out on unicycle riding dates. Although, come to think of it, that could make a great excuse for getting out of dating (as if you needed an excuse). "Sorry Bishop, my vehicle only holds one person." 

Or, an even better approach would be to buy a second unicycle. Then you could ask girls out on dates to tour the romantic sites around town by means of unicycle. One of two things would happen: Either she would have to turn you down (no one can say you didn't try, ergo, dating quota reached), or she would actually know how to ride a unicycle, which means she is either a freak or you should marry her. Admittedly, I am not sure what you would do if she turns out to be a freak that eats orange peels and rides unicycles. But at least you would reach quota when it came time to get a temple recommend. 

This summarizes our encounters with wheeled objects. Our story now shifts to an area up north of where we currently live.

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On our way to this northern destination, we passed the town of Henefer, UT. By our count, there were 23 road signs announcing our impending approach to the friendly confines of Henefer. Now, mind you, only 19 people actually live in Henefer, so getting 23 signs up in good working order was quite an accomplishment. Perhaps the town is so small that it takes that many signs for you to notice it is there.


Truth be told, I actually had heard of Henefer before this most recent encounter, but it blended together with all of the other Kanarravilles, Halchitas, Neolas, Floys, and Koosharems of Utah. And let's not even get started on DooShane, Hurracun, ManAway, or TooWilla. (Or, if you want to sound like a true local, "TaWilla," because, you know, 'Too' says 'Ta.' The 'a' should probably be a schwa, but that is getting too technical for a simple exposition on the innards of Utah geography).

But I digress.

After passing by several more pastures of ruminants, we arrived at the desired destination. It was here that we participated in activities involving wheel-less vehicles. Since the hoverboards were reserved for the next decade, we had to resign ourselves to watercraft on a lake.

The number of mosquitoes near the lake was insane. Luckily none of us are pregnant, or we would need to fear the Zika virus. Also, it is rather hard to paddle around in a lake when pregnant, (at least in the later stages, I am told).

Our expeditions onto the lake afforded intimate exposure to the flora, the fauna, and the froth of a waterfront used by the flocking masses of humanity.  As anyone familiar with maritime craft can tell you, some boats offer more protection from the waves than others. We were on the type of boats that offered less protection.  In fact, the first watercraft we tried was hardly a boat at all. It was called a "paddleboard." (See picture below)

As the name suggests, a paddleboard is a board that you paddle. That is how compound words usually work. (Except butter does not fly, and bulldozers do not make large male bovines slumber). Riding a paddle board is not for the faint of heart. You need to embrace the fact that you have a good likelihood of falling into the water a few times. Admittedly, one of us was more successful than the other at avoiding such spills into the cold blue depths. The photos below were taken by a man with a green hat and a telephoto lens.

Those sticks poking up can cut your feet.

No, he does not always wear cloths on his head. He just forgot a hat.

The next watercraft that we rode on was called a "canoe" (kə-NU; There, the schwa was used). This is a boat that many of you have probably ridden in at one time or another.

Thankfully, we were able to avoid capsizing this watercraft, although we did come close a few times. Having actually capsized a canoe in that lake, it was not an experience that one of us wished to repeat.

That is all for this week, but next week will bring another post. Although we do not wish to give too much away, a post about quilting may be in the works.