Hippo birdie to you. ...

We celebrated our youngest daughter's eighth birthday Thursday. We had a party at Chuck E. Cheese in Holland with several friends.

When she sings "Happy Birthday," she sings it "Hippo birdie to you." It's best not to ask why.

I hope the highlight of Alyssa's day was when she got her new bike. She's pictured above on it.

After a morning at the doctor's office (the girls needed physicals before they go to Girl Scout camp), we went to Lakeshore Cycle and Fitness on Riley north of Holland so Alyssa could choose her bicycle.

Lakeshore is where I got my bike and take it for all its repairs (and there are many!). The owner, Todd Garvelink, is very nice and patient with me and all my stupid questions (Is chrome molly the best? How about the new titanium fibers? If a train leaves Chicago at 3 p.m. traveling 65 mph. ...).

We could have gotten the bicycle cheaper at, say, Wal-Mart, but I like to support local businesses when I can. And I may cut corners on not-so-important things like food, clothes, cars and health care, but not something as important as a bicycle.

The trick Thursday was getting Alyssa to take a bike without training wheels. I had sat down with her the day before and explained how training wheels inhibit her ability to maneuver the bike, actually making it less safe, and that having two more wheels on the ground will cause more friction and slow her down. She didn't want to hear it.

So, to avoid emotionally scarring her, I acquiesced to the training wheels. A whining child always beats a tired parent in any game. Always.

Thought: I hope she grows out of the training wheels soon. She can't have them if she's going to be in the time trials on Team Hayden in the Tour de France next month.

Blowing smoke

Sunday was Jayne's family gathering. We all meet up a park, have lunch, socialize and leave.

This year's gathering was a Grose Park (bad name, good park) in Ottawa County. I had Jayne's mom drop me off in Muskegon at the terminus of the Musketawa Trail so I could take the bike trail to the park. Jayne's mom, Jayne and the kids went ahead to the park while I enjoyed a fantastic ride through rural western Michigan.

The trail is well maintained and even has a stop with vending machines. It was an old railroad line dating back to the 1890s and you can tell when you get around Ravenna. Stones still line the trail.

At the park

I arrived at the reunion just before lunch after about an hour and a half of riding (I'm slow, took pictures and looked over the wetlands). I ate quite a lot at the lunch (I was hungry) -- a rarity for me. I usually can't eat at these gathering because of cigarette smoke.

I grew up in a house of smokers and didn't realize how much tobacco smoke bothered me until I was out of college. Now, as soon as I catch a hint of the stink, my throat gets dry and a headache emerges fast and furious. It won't go away until I'm in clear air.

Well, at the reunion Sunday, the legion of smokers lit up right after the meal. I hurried through my food so I could go with the kids to the lake at the park where I assumed I'd have fresh air.

Above is a bad photo of the kids in Crockery Lake. It's Alyssa, her friend Oscar, Jayne's nephew Geoffrey and, far right, Elspeth.

Unfortunately, many people at the lake were smoking. I felt like I was walking into a bar it stank so bad. And these weren't old farts smoking. These were young people (20s and 30s) who should know better.

My head was killing me by the time I got out of the water. I found no respite at the pavillion where the smokers were clouding the air. So, I told the kids it was time to leave because I just couldn't take the smoke anymore.

Soap box

If I had my way, I'd ban smoking immediately. It's not that smoking is bad for you (your choice, not mine). It's that it harms other people by its very use.

You see, I don't care if you drink alcohol until your liver shrivels. I don't care if you inject heroin until your veins collapse. And I don't care if you take speed or acid until the walls bleed red, just as long as you don't hurt anyone else in the act itself. I know you hurt others after you take the drug -- the results of your irresponsibility you and all around you will have to deal with -- but those acts don't harm an innocent bystander while you're doing it.

A fine line, I know. I believe people have the right to abuse themselves, but not others. If you smack yourself in the head with a hammer, you ain't too bright and need mental help. If you smack someone else in the head with a hammer, you're going to jail.

Thought: I don't understand why people smoke. If you're over 50, I'll accept that the lifestyles of the past may have helped you make an unhealthy choice. But if you're my age or younger, I have no sympathy for you. Are you stupid?

Father's Day surprise

Did you hear the joke about how chocolate Labs got their name? Me neither, but if you look at what comes out of them when they have diarrhea, you might get an inkling.

When I came home from work Sunday morning, I opened the front door to an unmistakeable aroma. Milo had contracted what his little companion Mischa had the week before -- and it stinks. Something about a 100-pound dog with the runs that makes me uneasy.

After cleaning up and spending all day Sunday putting Milo out of the house, Jayne and I spent time scrubbing the carpet. I spent another night awake until 5 a.m. with Milo so he didn't mess the carpet again. As soon as he'd move, I'd race to the door to put him out.

Why didn't I leave him outside, you ask. Because it was raining cats and dogs and thundering. Milo hates thunder -- it makes him panic. So, I had a sick dog in a thunderstorm. Happy Father's Day.

We got him medicine Tuesday and he did fine overnight. Now, it's time for the carpet cleaning machine.

Side note: Watching TV through 5 a.m. is numbing, but I did catch the top 25 bikini moments of all time on VH1. I must agree with their No. 1 choice: Phoebe Cates in "Fast Times at Ridgemont High." Doesn't anybody knock anymore?

Now for something completely different ...

I took the kids and two of their friends to Oval Beach Monday. I know, Oval Beach is where the good-looking people go, but I went because the bathrooms are close by. At Douglas Beach, you have about 60 steps to go up and there was no way I was dragging four girls with me each time someone had to go.

Oval Beach used to have lifeguards, but the city of Saugatuck decided this summer it couldn't afford them (Ha!). Instead, a member of "The Beach Patrol" wanders out of the ticket booth and scopes out the beach. The one who did that when I was there didn't even carry a life preserver.

I feel safe.

We had a good time despite me being the fattest, palest person on the sand.

One more thing

I've started writing my bicycle column again for The Sentinel. Check it out on the Web site at www.hollandsentinel.com, but I warn you that the Web site makes you sign up to look at anything. Sorry.

Thought: Pale people on the beach get sunburn no matter how much lotion they put on.

Nice rack

I've been doing some bike riding that has me hauling the old Fuji here and there on my car, so I hooked up the bike rack Jayne got me for Christmas a few years ago.

The rack is fine, but I always get nervous about the bike flying off while I'm whipping down the expressway or making a sharp turn somewhere, so I amuse the people behind me by tying it all up in a spider-web fashion.

The picture above shows it pretty well. That was taken at Kollen Park in Holland. Lake Macatawa is visible in the back.

I know the rack will hold it fine, but I'm just darned paranoid. The clothesline hanging out the back is looped around a support in the trunk and does actually serve a purpose more substantial than calming my irrational fears.

The rack I use does not stop the bike from swinging out when I speed up. This freaked me out. To stop it, I wrap the rope around the frame to hold it secure.

Also, I need to tether the front tire that, unless tied down, will swing wildly in the wind.

The rest is window dressing for my fears.

Thought: Tie me up, tie me down. A good movie, if you like that stuff.

License to change

Michigan changed is basic vehicle license plate this year, so when Jayne renewed the registration on our fleet of cars, we had to change all the plates.

No biggie, of course, unless one of the plates has been on the car for 11 years and was rusted there. The metal was so corroded that chunks of what was once metal just dropped off as I worked to removed the plate.

I could not get that screw to come loose (and I know loose screws, I tell ya). I fought with that darn plate using all the weapons at my disposal, from WD-40 and screwdrivers to kicking and cursing (I use the latter a lot). As I was about to give up, a flash of genius hit me. When it was gone, I decided instead to use my crowbar in the trunk -- not to bash the plate, which is my nature, but to rip free that rusted screw.

It worked!

My last plate to change was on the Kia. Never having had a foreign car before, I didn't realize the plate is affixed differently. So, I showed up to Jayne's work (where the car was) to do a quick change, and found out the screwdrivers were useless. The Kia used bolts.

What a great idea! I was so impressed that the fact I was in white pants (it's after Memorial Day, so it's cool) for work and was standing in the middle of a parking lot with two orange-handled screwdrivers didn't bother me. Once I borrowed a wrench from a friend at the college, those bolts just twisted easily off, unlike the screws. Those Korean automakers sure know how to make a guy's day.

When I was done with that, I happily wiped my hands on my pants and ... Oh, yes. I was wearing white pants. Well, the rust and dirt just made them look more, well, stylish.

So, I have three rusted, useless license plates, above.

Quick dinner note

Jayne, myself and the kids had a nice afternoon at a friend's house in Grand Rapids Sunday. Nothing spectacular about that, except this is the family that, each time we try to meet, something happens at my work that calls me away. Last time, it was a coworker who called in sick so I had to rush in to cover.

This time? Nothing! The curse is broken.

Thought: Maybe it's the new license plates that are the source of this magical power?