Yesterday, on the graveled road West, suddenly those disgusting sounds of riding on a flat forced their way through the Odyssey and beat on the drums in the inner sanctum. Anxiously the foot raced to take a brake while the mind voluntarily slid into its somewhat famous discomfort zone. With all bodily functions resonating in flat unison, we glided gently across the border into the motionless state where about half the hands on deck quietly scrambled for access to the outer breezeway. Participating minds obediently responded by secretly stirring potential possibilities. A full circle investigation revealed a certain inflated air with the subliminal message “Sure fooled you!” enveloping the tired vehicle. At this juncture the cue card should have read “Scratch head!”
We slowly proceeded to hiway South where all flat sounding curiosities were continually swallowed up by the blacktop for the rest of our ride.
One more subject of interest, we must of turned off on a scenic outlook along the way because there it was. Father was holding small daughter in his arms while he was contentedly sucking on her pacifier!
The moral? Some things will flat remain yesterday’s mysteries!