Bren took this pic on a recent bike ride around the neighbourhood. Yes, there were bikes (not pictured here). You think we just strap helmets on them for tree-sitting? What are we, insane?
Well, actually, yes, we are insane. Because bike rides with Luca and Ziggy are an exercise in losing one's mind.
I attempted it this week.
We're down the coast for a couple of days. I promise to take the kids for a bike ride down to the park. It's stupidly cold and windy, and Harlow is disagreeable but fuck it, we're going to have some fun on this god forsaken trip away so we all suit up in blizzard gear and head off.
Luca is on his new birthday bike and pedals ahead. Zig is on his trike which he refuses to pedal, preferring to use his horrendously slow feet to propel him along. That leaves Harlow and I somewhere in the middle, but this is problematic because Harlow is screaming if I am pushing the pram at anything less than a moderate jog.
An elderly man passing by makes the comment, "What were you thinking?" and laughs good-naturedly. In reality, I laugh along but in my mind, I kneecap that old fucker.
The only saving grace is that Luca is exceptionally well-behaved when riding and will always stop and wait before he gets too far ahead. In no other facet of his little life does he care to listen so in this moment, as Harlow wails and Ziggy stops to ponder the grass, you can understand why he is my favourite child.
After fifteen long minutes, we reach our destination. It occurs to me that had I walked this distance alone, it would have taken approximately three.
The wind has picked up by now, and the park, being beside the ocean, bears the full brunt of its gale force. Harlow has finally fallen asleep and I attempt to position the pram behind a bush lest it take off into the air like a tornado cow. Luca and Ziggy run around the perimeter of the park a few times, high colour on their cheeks, hair whipping their faces and I swear, becoming airborne once or twice. Even they seem unsure how to play in these rugged conditions.
They snake down the slide once or twice and when I spot icicles hanging from their noses, I round them up and begin our Tour de Fucked the 300 metres back to the hotel.
And what a fine picture we make. Luca riding and braking and dinging his bell at anything that moves, me pushing the pram, semi-jog, and then halting to holler back at Zig meandering along, head lolling back as he regards a fence paling with mild interest.
It was then I made the decision; I'm happy to keep reading and also, the movies, but bike riding is now strictly a Daddy activity.