Tour de Midget

From the surreal files:

The place to ride a bike in Chicago has to be the lakefront path.  Winding 18 miles along the city’s uneasy border with Lake Michigan, the path is overcrowded in the summer, deserted during the frigid winter, and home to just about every sight you could hope to see.  One Sunday, I spotted a man pushing a wheelchair occupied by a mannequin whose arm was position to hold an old-fashioned VHS video camera.  The day after Halloween, I spotted a double dong dildo by Roosevelt Ave. 

However, these events pale compared to the events of one chilly May morning.  Trying to get a little exercise in, I’d decided to ride my bike uptown, and was heading north on the path when I came across a pack of children riding their bikes.  This in and of itself was nothing new; Packs of rugrats often scuttled up the path, particularly by Southside neighborhoods where parental supervision was… shall we say a but more lax. This group of kids was out in the middle of nowhere, and nary an adult was to be seen accompanying these kids.  Even though the group was fairly well-behaved – very little of the classic weaving associated with children on bikes – the absence of an adult enforcer had me worried. 

As I passed them, I realized that the children were actually midgets.  A pack of cycling midgets.  All of them were pedaling tiny road bikes and wearing tiny spandex shorts.  Most of them were wearing pink and purple helmets that were obviously made for children.

They were moving slowly.  I fell in behind them and waited for them to get off the path.  There are three kinds of people you just don’t blow by: cops, (real) people in wheelchairs, and midgets. 

The midgets showed no signs of deviating from the path.  After about five minutes, I noticed one of the really tiny midgets was riding one of those kid bike trailers attached to another, slightly larger midget's bike. A minute later, he turned back to me and said, "Nice day for a ride, eh?" in a squeaky little voice.

This freaked me out. I nodded solemnly, said “screw this” to myself, turned for home and ate a gigantic breakfast.