Yesterday I rode my bicycleta to my folk's place to watch the late World Cup game. It's 11.8 miles. I met up with my brother who rode 6 miles and my dad got there soon after us. My father, however...had just completed a 36.98 mile trip up to Rocklin and back. The three of us watched the game and after it was over it was time for me to head home. The temperature looked something like 103 and I was still disgustingly sweaty. I had a conversation with my dad that went something like this:
Me: Hey dad. Can you drive me home?
Dad: Can I ride with you home? Yeah...I think I can do that.
Me: No, dad. Driiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive me home.
Dad: Ride? I already said I would. What do you keep asking for?
Me: No. With a car. D-R-I-V-E. Will you DRIVE me home?
Dad: Yeah...let me get on my riding shoes and we'll ride back.
Dammit. I knew it was no use arguing and when I got home I was in pain. I thought I'd throw up at least 3 times on the way home and I drank my water bottle and one and a half of his. I wasn't prepared. I think I will be next time.