Bikes and tykes

I had a day between when we returned from New York and when I had to go back to work, so we (finally) dusted off the bikes and gave Jane her first ride in the bike trailer.

I got Vicki a bike for Mother's Day two years ago and had planned a long bike ride and picnic for our then-three member family. That morning, however, Vicki gave me the good news that she was pregnant. And really tired. And not at all up for a bike ride. Anyway, we've been vowing to get back on the trail ever since.

Of course, after getting everything ready (checking tires, assembling trailer to make sure all parts were there and working, wrestling with bike rack) and loaded, I discovered that my rear wheel was flat. So I pumped it up again, but I could hear a leak. Which meant a side trip to REI, where --- and I really do need to write them a letter --- they took care of my bike (new inner tube + labor, $10) and had me on my way in 15 minutes. Good people at that store.

Once we reached our destination, a decommissioned railroad trail that runs north into Pennsylvania, we were ready to go. Jane, however, was not at all interested in her helmet. Even when we called it a hat. Even when Samson told her she had to. So we decided she was probably safe enough sitting in the trailer and with her harness buckled.

We probably rode all of three miles before various factions in our party professed to be tired and in need of a horna potty [for some reason, Sam just cannot grasp the idea that it's a porta potty]. In truth, three miles of pulling 50 pounds of kids was probably good for the first time out anyway.

At one point, a mother deer and her fawn crossed about 100 yards in front of us. Both Samson and Jane saw it because I heard a kind of combined "hey" and "ooh" from directly behind me. It's hard to explain, but whenever I'm out hiking or biking and see something like that, I always get this feeling like I've been let in on a really cool secret.

Sort of a reminder that the world goes on even when you're not there to see it.