This weekend was the first warm spell of 2013. We had winter coats in the washing machine, cardinals covering the bird feeder, and daffodils poking out along the borders of the garden. The big orange bike (Bob) had been in the cellar since the first snowstorm of the winter and was ready for a little Easter Sunday resurrection. Definitely a good day for a bike ride.
The Minuteman Bikeway begins about a mile from our house. It's a disused rail track which was developed into a cycle path in the mid-1990s, and it's hugely popular at weekends. A thru-route for everyone from mums jogging with baby-strollers, children on scooters, teenagers on roller-blades, wobbly fat men taking their creaky cycle for a slow constitutional, squads of high speed runners, and professional cycling troupes. Last year I had one of my best, and worst, cycling experiences on the Minuteman. I was feeling fit, riding fast on my roadster and over-taking everyone... well, nearly everyone. Along come two men on road-bikes wearing all the kit. When they overtook me I put on a sprint and stayed level. I was riding as fast as I had ever ridden and it felt fantastic. We rode together for nearly two miles. Then one of the men turned to the other and asked, 'Enough of a breather?' and the other man smiled at me and said 'See you later, kid' (Kid!!??? KID!!!) and they disappeared. Literally disappeared into the distance. The lesson to learn is that sometimes it's better to look as though you are not trying.
Anyhow, today I joined the show by riding Bob and having Truff running alongside me. When I go out running with Truff, he merely walks quickly alongside me and occasionally gives me a baffled look as though to say, "Really? What are you doing? Is that your very best?" So, today was my chance to see how well he could really run. He's been doing well with his training and responds positively to voice commands - 'leave it!' (useful for squirrels, wild geese, and big dogs' balls); 'stay close' (which, in theory, turns him into my shadow... ); 'hi-five!' (less useful, but one of the girls' favorite commands and always useful for wowing small children who want to pet him); and 'dancing dog' (which means that he does figures of eights through my legs until I fall over).
Iola and Nathan came along on the tandem. The tandem was our wedding present from Nathan's grandmother. Over the past fifteen years it's been used for everything from romantic weekends, London commuting, adventures with the in-laws, and offering tours to friends of whichever city we have found ourselves living in. We even used the tandem to bring Uncle Sam home after he'd raced in the Great North Run. Now, for the first time, Iola's legs are long enough for her to really ride with her dad and her face beamed with absolute pride from the moment she climbed on board and began furiously peddling down the road.
Nathan and I have never quite agreed upon the, ahem, off-roading nature of the tandem. About a year into our marriage, he persuaded me that the tandem had front suspension because it was a mountain bike. There was a moment shortly afterwards - when we were skidding down a very steep hill towards a large pond with the bike lurching sideways at such an angle that I was sitting alongside him - that I realized that my love of cycling is dependent upon having tarmac beneath my wheels and a good pair of brakes within reaching distance of my own hands. Maya shares my view. Yes, we love going fast and we're happy to pedal far; but mud is for walking boots and steep hills are for skiers. In Iola, Nathan has finally found a partner in crime. Me and the Truff stuck to the cycle path, while Nathan and Iola appeared and disappeared among the trees and up and down the sides of the banks.
It's the first time that the dog has been able to run at his preferred speed for a sustained distance. We cycled for about six miles and stopped on the way home so that he could have a splash in the lake. I thought that he might be tired but when we passed the dog park, he played ball with another dog as though it was the start of the walk. And as for Iola, well she can't wait for the next outing - further, faster, and more furious. The girl has a mountain biker's soul.
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