That numerical value is not in reference to a medical bill or any kind of accident, it’s just an estimate for how much it cost to get six bikes up and running at the end of May. We needed new inners (14” and 20” and 24” and 26”), a couple of helmets, fresh brake lines, and rear-mounted seats for the babies (the biggest hit to the wallet).
So that was the cost, but it was worth the gain: we can take our entire family to a very limited number of destinations significantly more slowly, as long as there are two adults at home. Twelve wheels and eight humans, a spectacle that was called, on one occasion, “a parade!”
Perhaps we could have done this whole-fam-on-bikes thing sooner, but the fact remains that we didn’t. I’ve been following some toddler around on a balance bike for the neighborhood walks for the last eight years or so. And things lined up in such a way that this summer that I was riding, too. Probably because I wasn’t pregnant or very newly postpartum and actually felt like it.
Good thing we got all of that sorted, because next summer, everyone will need a larger bike. We should be able, for the most part, to just scoot everyone to the next biggest bike we own and source a new (to us!) one for the oldest. Sidebar: on one of the drives we used to take up into the mountains, this one ranch had a fence along the highway that the owners had lined with dozens of children’s bicycles. I used to wonder, “Just how many kids did they have?” and now I know the answer is three, maybe four.
The $500 bike ride is from our house to the absolute closest Catholic church, which is about 3 miles away, where we do a Children’s Adoration hour on Tuesday mornings.
We—four children, two adults with a baby seat a piece and corresponding babies strapped into them (he gets the toddler, I get the baby)—ride down out of our cul-de-sac and through our neighborhood of moderate-to-large suburban houses. We turn left at the LDS church at the bottom of the street into a few blocks of county maintenance, where the houses are on 2-acre plots. Then comes the first strip mall—pool hall, a tire shop, a 24-hour Mexican food restaurant, that very good Pho place, a thrift store, a martial arts gym, and a coffee shop. We set up on the sidewalk to cross six lanes of traffic at the simplest light out of the shopping center. Jonny watches the light cycle and calls out, “Feet on pedals!” just before the walk sign glows. The nine-year-old, who serves as our “anchor,” calls out, “ALL ACROSS!” when everyone has made it through the intersection.
We aren’t sure if the parking lot or the crossing at the light is the most dangerous part of the ride, and we never make up our minds about this. With both of them behind us, we enter into another neighborhood with moderate-to-large houses with a high school and a Baptist church. This neighborhood contains a true wonder of wonders: a sidewalk behind the houses that at one point turns into a pedestrian tunnel under a four-lane road. The children shout “ECHO!” We follow the bike path and take a left at the fork, which leads to the back of the second strip mall: a card store, a tattoo parlor, a Mexican food restaurant, a vape shop. We ride behind them in the alley with the dumpsters. Then, it’s into the bike lane for the briefest of moments and left across the street into the church parking lot. (The fastest time we ever clocked for this ride was just under twenty-eight minutes).
After the adoration hour and subsequent run up and down the lawn with the other children ends, we strap on our helmets to go home. The babies fall asleep almost as soon as they’re strapped in their chairs. We ride past the same storefronts and garage doors, enact the same scripted crossing of the Road That Is Just Too Large, Really, and then we’re back into our own neighborhood. The final leg of the ride is almost entirely uphill, including one gradual incline that starts at the LDS church and ends twenty houses later. This stretch earns the nickname “Crybaby Hill.” I don’t know which one of the children coined this and I’m content not to know.
Crybaby hill is the hardest on the littlest bikers, without a single gear to their name. Our third child cries every time she approaches it, until we catch on and tell her to buddy up with someone and encourage them. Her whole demeanor changes. All the while, the almost-five-year-old pedals his 14” bike up a half-mile hill on willpower alone. He understands that this is part of what it means to be a “big kid,” and he will do anything to be big. He’s a heartbeat on wheels.
We come back through the front door and enter various states of collapse. We pass around water and lemonade, and I start cobbling together something for lunch.
Do we go everywhere this way? No. Would I like to go more places this way? Yes. I will never cease to be amazed at the efficiency of traveling slowly. In three hours, we spent time with our kids, exercised, had an adventure (albeit a small one), practiced independence and some traffic safety, fulfilled a commitment, saw friends, and prayed. We did the $500 bike ride five times this summer, courtesy of Jonny’s break from school. So, all told, it was more like a $100 bike ride five times, an experience that came at the rate of $33/hour.
Worth every penny.
Gospel: The Faith of the Canaanite Woman from St. Matthew’s🪽. If anyone has a better take than, JUST KEEP ASKING, let me know. I was reminded of the story of the woman pleading with an unjust judge, and Jonny was reminded of the “bloody dog of goodwill” that Father Jacques Philippe quotes the Little Flower about in Searching for and Maintaining Peace. Otherwise, kind of hard to swallow, but maybe that’s good for me. Anyway, don’t give up.
Last week, I asked...
I have one child who has finished summer reading, and another who said they’d take their chances, and, you know what, it’s not the child you’d think in either case.
Today…
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