by Bettina Freese

My two-year-old took his first “real” bike ride, making me so proud that I’m thinking Lance needs to have a look-see at my little prodigy.

“We were singletracking!” he says.

And he WAS. Not only was he churning the pedals like a pro, but he was standing, working the handlebars, and riding down railroad ties, his training wheels teetering from side-to-side. It kills me that his bike weighs nearly the same as mine. How can an industry catering to speed, and measuring things per ounce, weigh a kid down with a clunker? It weighs about as much as an adult-sized Huffy. I mean, really. What about boaters? Are children’s flotation devices lined in lead?

Perhaps a heavy bike will make him all the stronger. Of course that, too, concerns me. What kind of a beast are we creating? I keep riding every chance I get so that he won’t kick my butt when he’s four.

As I watched him cruise down the path I started doing a little math. By the time he’s 10 he’ll be learning to jump his bike onto picnic tables and whatnot. I mention this because it’s something I’ve always wanted to learn. However, I’ve spent my time in the woods chasing after faster riders, not riders who do tricks. Maybe my little man and I can learn these things together. Is it feasible for me to learn such things when I’m 45? (please refer to last month’s column on being old). Absolutely. All one needs is incentive and good health insurance.

Little E also had his first real road ride on the Parkway, riding from Craven Gap to Bull Gap, and back, without complaint. In fact, he wanted more (He whines less on a ride than Craig Adams!). He panted up hills, figuring out the sustained cardio thing, spouting air from the corner of his mouth like a locomotive. I jogged in front of him like a carrot, his favorite game involving chasing someone or being chased. I had to balance that delicate line of having fun, fearing that if I pushed too hard he would hate bicycles forever.

Which reminds me of bicycle trailers, of which he has become extremely wary. There we were, heading up to five points on the northern boundary road at Bent Creek when the jeep trail narrowed down to singletrack for the last mile. He wasn’t so happy about bumping around back there, so I entertained him with song, interspersed with, “YAY! Isn’t this FUN?!...Say, WHEEEEE!” He wasn’t impressed with my creativity-especially when the trailer flipped onto its side after hitting a large rock. “WHEEE!” I laughed, quickly righting him onto the wheels as he dangled from the straps (yes, he was wearing a helmet). I let him out at the top to hike around, at which time he promptly got an inch-long scratch across his face from briars. The ride down was not nearly as quick as I had anticipated.

“Tina….Tina...you’re scaring me,” he hollered. “We’re going too fast!”

“Awww, come on!” I hollered back as the sky was darkening. “This is FUN!”

I now have to wait until he’s big enough for the kiddie tandem before we have a Bettina ride in the woods. Until then, I’ll keep him in charge of the rides for the greater good.