Biking Follow-up: Mom with Four Fellow Travelers

So I finish the previous blog and think, "I really do need to run those errands." To avoid hypocrisy, I decide to do so on my bike. At first, I planned to go alone, which would have been preferable and infinitely more efficient. But what with one thing and another, it evolved into my taking along the preschooler in the Burley trailer. This wasn't too big of a problem; as a matter of fact, the extra cargo space in the back was a bit of an advantage. Well, then another of the kids wanted to go along, and then I lost my babysitting situation. In the end, all four children tagged along.

One adult with a trailer followed by three children on bikes stands out, like a small carnival train putzing alongside the roar of traffic. Don't panic, now, we weren't actually in traffic. We stayed on the bike path most of the way. However, with all those evolutions involved with who would be going on the ride, we got a late start--after pumping up tires and pulling down helmets and kids finding shoes, we left about an hour later than I would have taken off on my own. The delayed departure changed the timing, and we ended up passing through a private school's carpool line, dodging all those anxious moms and dads in their minivans waiting to turn and get in line, worried about being late. A few smiled at our little caravan--I may have resembled a mama duck with her ducklings diligently following behind. A few scowled, especially if we caused them to miss a good left-turn opportunity.

Later, when we were nearing the library, we got caught in the bustle of buses and cars just as an extra-large, super-sized high school let out. Zoom! swish! Those high school kids didn't give a hoot about a woman on a bike with a trailer. Who cares if I was actually walking it across at an intersection with a green walk signal--those teenage drivers (and buses, too) were ready to roll. I was alarmed. I frowned at a bus driver and even shook my finger at one young driver of a snazzy sports car and pointed at the light. Her window was down, so like a cranky old woman, I called out, "I'm a pedestrian! Look, I have the light!" I practically shook my finger at her. She ignored me and I could have sworn she turned up her music.

I completed the library errand with adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream, pulsing, heightening all senses. Then we dropped by a convenient video rental store for two movies the kids had their hearts set on. Being the holiday weekend and all, our selections were checked out by others. Ugh. A wasted errand with nothing to show for our sidetrip.

Back to the bike trail, we headed for the destination they were all waiting for: Target.

Oh, no, the boy in the trailer has to go to the bathroom. It's urgent. We're on a bike trail, but cars are zipping alongside us on the road. I feel tense. During the entire hour that has passed, I've mustered up brain-boggling, intense focus that is wearing on me, and all we have actually done is drop off a library book. I give up. Global warming, shlobal warming, I'm strapping my four into the van.

My cell phone rings: it's my bicycle-to-work spouse. "Hey, I just wanted you to know I'm about to get on the road," he says.

"Great, well," I respond, "there are a bunch of crazies out. It's not that quiet ride you had on the way to work this morning. Watch out. They'll run you down."

"Oh?" he can hear the tenseness. "Okay. I'll be careful."

"I'm telling you, they will--" I separate the next words for emphasis, "run...you...down. They are so excited to be out of school or out of work for the weekend, they don't give a rip about a guy on a bike. They just want to get home and grill their brats, man."

"Thanks for the warning. I'll watch out."

My ducklings and I stop by the house to drop off our bikes and let the little one do his business. I grab my purse, jump in the van, click in anyone who needs clicking, and head to Target. As I pull onto the main road of our neighborhood, I feel my blood pressure dropping. I'm relaxing. How can that be? I hate to shop. Well, everyone is quietly staring out the windows. We are no longer the smallest, most vulnerable vehicles on the road. I realize that I like sitting high in a minivan. We are surrounded by airbags that could deploy at the slightest impact. This is good, I think. This is worth the extra few bucks in gas money.

At Target, we find everything we're looking for. We happily swing by the grocery and get the movies that were unavailable at that video store, grab a loaf of fresh bread and head home.

We roll down the windows and feel the breeze. I roll slowly through the subdivision, pondering the pool, which should open tomorrow for a chilly start to the swimming season. We carry in our bags and eat a piece of still-warm baguette. I spread mine with boursin and make a bit of tea. Just as I take a bite, my husband pokes his head in the back door. "I'm back!" he calls out.

"You're safe," I say, sighing a little.

"Yep." We kiss. "Boursin?" he says, licking his lips and grinning.

"Yep."

"Yum!"

He's hungry after riding against the wind for an hour, so he tears off slices of bread and forks down two servings of spaghetti with sauce, then is lulled to sleep by heavy doses of carbohydrates. He nods off as I read to the children from A Wrinkle in Time. He doesn't even wake up when the man with red eyes hypnotizes Charles Wallace, or when Meg shouts, "No, no, no!" We wake him up for cleanup time.

"Do you think you'll ride to work often?" I ask, while scraping my plate.

"Yes," he responds. "I just need to remember my belt."

"I need to figure out how to run errands alone," I mumble, but he doesn't hear me. He's nodding off. The kids giggle.

A few minutes later, one of the kids comes up to me and announces, "Today was a glorious day. Everything about it--it's beautiful and peaceful. I loved it."

And so like an old softy--my will weakened by all that bread--I think to myself, "I'll take them along again. It's worth it."