That'll Teach Me

After having spent the last 3 months hibernating, I finally joined the sun outside for a lovely little bike ride.

We rode to Flying J to meet Josh so he could fill up my wintery-flat tires. Everything around here gets soft in the winter. He kindly obliged. I know what you're thinking "You can't fill up your own tires?" and no. I can't. Because I'm a sissy little girl and I know that I will overfill them and they will explode and I will get a rocket-shaped piece of rubber lodged in my retina and be blind for the rest of my life. And then what will I do? Stranded at Flying J with one exploded tire, one blinded eye and one (presumably) sad baby, I would probably just melt into the sidewalk and die. 

I also don't close the blinds after dark. Go tell your husband how brave you are, he'll love you for it.

So with fully-blown tires Tommy and I rode to the trail and I got all excited about being "back on my bike". As if I were Lance Armstrong returning to my epic career of cycling after beating cancer, and not a squishy mom on a 20 year old bike dragging a parachute baby in a bike trailer returning to what can only be described as a hobby, I rode with my head held high and my lungs-a-burnin'.

Until this Old Guy who must have been at least 75 rode up beside me, slowed his pace pace to match mine and we chatted.
"I've done 18 miles today and only have 12 more to go!" he shared with a genuine-Grandpa smile.
He stuck with me for a mile while we had a pleasant conversation, then he left me in the dust and I slowed down to catch my breath.

4 miles into the ride, Tommy was still crying a bit, so I turned around and headed for home.

We were only a mile from home when a gunshot went off which nearly gave me a heart attack and left my ears ringing. Oddly enough at that exact moment, Tommy got 1,000 pounds heavier and my bike stopped working. I hopped off, to find the elephant which had clearly attached himself to the back of the trailer so I could tell him I couldn't drag him too, when I found my back tire completely shredded.

That's right, I rode my bike so hard the brittle 20 year old tire gave up the ghost. It were SCREAMING for mercy and when I refused to give it, the thing exploded.

I dragged and carried the bike and trailer home. I'd walk ahead 20 feet, then convince Tommy to catch up, pulling dirt and rocks and sticks out of his grubby little fists the whole way.

Remember when it took 45 minutes to walk down the street? Well you can imagine how long it took to get home.

On the plus side, spending 2 hours outside, on the the most beautiful day of the year is nothing to complain about. Plus, my cheeks are a nice shade of sun-kissed.

I like me better in the sun.