This is Pi Day #012.c
I was wondering why my bicycle fell over… then I realized it’s probably because it’s two tired.
I am being a bit unfair. In fact on a recent ride we came upon a beautiful lookout over the river valley, looking down on the bridge we’d crossed on a previous ride, and she stood there so long taking it all in that I thought we were going to have to file a change of address with the tax office.
But that’s more of an exception.
“Oh… look at this beautiful view!” I’ll suggest.
She’ll be looking instead at a patch of clover trying to find a ‘lucky one.’
“From this bridge you can look five kilometers down the river.” I’ll say.
She’ll be throwing stones to see them ‘plop’ in the water below.
It’s all about priorities, I suppose. And to be honest, her’s are probably more interesting than mine.
This is Pi Day #012.b
What’s having a frank, heart-to-heart discussion with your kid while on bikes? Child cycle-ology.
As a runner one of my pet peeves is cyclists.
Yup, you read that right cyclists. When we’re sharing the trails a few of you — just a few of you, mind — give cyclists a bad name. Most of you are great, but until someone is careening past you on two wheels having give no indication (bell, anyone?) that they are approaching but plenty of hand gestures as they pass, you don’t know which kind of cyclist you’re dealing with.
Usually good. But often enough bad that it’s a thing.
And then a couple times per week I become a cyclist… and a dad cyclist to boot, who is forever shouting out instructions to The Girl who is far less savy, far less experienced, and far less over-the-top courteous to all the walkers and runners and puppies and whoever is out on the trail. We’re not perfect, but bike with us and you’re sure to hear me barking “ring your bell” or “pass on the left” to my biking companion who is invariably racing ahead not-quite-following the rules of good bikesmanship.
It’s like tween pre-driver training. You should be thanking me.
This is Pi Day #012.a
I’d be better at bike repair but I tend to get wheelie, wheelie tyred…
The Girl’s old bike must have shrunk over the winter, because earlier this spring I found myself at the bike shop investing in a new bike for her. It’s got twenty-one speeds and slick brakes and a frame that is not ultra-light, but light enough that I can sling it into the back of the truck for some get-to-the-trails tripping.
Fortunately, the new wheels make her speedy enough to strike out on those kinds of serious riding adventures.
Unfortunately, I’m now the one with the old bike. The old, old, old bike that breaks down a bit too often for my personal tastes.
Fortunately, I’m not completely incompetent when it comes to minor bike repairs. I’ve been able to tune up the old beast, replace some tubes, swap in some new pedals and keep the brakes working well enough to travel the hilly terrain of our beautiful river valley trail system.
Unfortunately, this is kind of maintenance is a neverending and forever ongoing task.
The Girl has lots of questions, of course, the biggest one being “dad, why don’t you just buy a new bike…?”