At a local trail, there is a curvy skinny made from a cut log. For 35 feet it winds around about 15 inches from top to ground. I had been riding for a year or so, but had never attempted to ride said skinny – that is, until a stinkin’ 8 year old (or so) rolled right up to it, zipped up on it, and rode it no problemo. I knew then and there I’d need to give it a try, bruised shins be damned, ego winning out…thank god I made it. And thank goodness for that darn kid.
I didn’t go on my first mountain bike ride until I was in my mid 20s. I didn’t even know the sport existed and the 2 rides I went on weren’t much fun. It took a re-introduction in my late-20s to make me fall in love with dirty singletrack. That’s why I’m particularly amazed to see our youngest, who’s just a wee past 1.5 years old, riding a strider bike, sans parent.
And then, to pull up to her tiny daycare (newborns to 4 year-olds), and see 3 other little bikes parked out front.
I look forward to the day I can go on rides with my kiddos, and I wonder how long I have before they’ll be teaching me how to ride.