Stop Right There Mister.
I had already packed my kit bag and loaded up the bike on the car. Everything was set for an after-work ride with blue skies. After a string of chilly, cloudy days, I was pretty excited. It was already warming up nicely.
My wife stopped me at the top of the stairs.
"What time are you picking up the kids from school?"
"Wait. Huh? When were you going to tell me this?"
"Right now."
We have this existing deal. Most days I take the kids to school, she picks them up afterwards so I can get in a decent ride at the warmest time of the day and still be home right about the same time as they get there. It works out well, and ensures I'm less grumpy. If I have to pick up the kids, any sort of riding messes with family time, dinner, homework, bedtime, and whatever other requirements pop into my wife's head. My time on the bike is precious to me, and the window to ride in semi-decent conditions is narrower this time of year. Dropping off kids kills the bike commuting concept for the moment, but maybe I'll go that route later in the summer to get the miles in.
So yeah, this curveball beaned me in the side of the head. I started getting grumpy.
It would have been different if it was raining or otherwise miserable. It was beautiful. In my dark mood, I considered the possibility that it was the last nice day of the year. We have had years in the past when we had a couple weeks or so of blue skies and then Seattle weather for the remaining months.
I was not a happy camper for the rest of the day. The bike stayed on top of the car, basking in the sun but locked in place.
I picked up the kids, went home, and crawled into bed to nap away the negativity. My wife arrived a little while later and asked if I wanted to get in a quick ride before we went to dinner with her sister. I looked at the clock, did some quick calculations, and realized with hurried preparations and a glancing shower afterwards, I could have gotten in a solid 20 minutes of riding. I demurred.
Instead, I fetched my daughter's bike out of the deepest, darkest recesses of the garage so she could ride. Her pretty princess helmet didn't fit her, so I substituted her mother's helmet. I had just bought my youngest son a new helmet a few days before, which wasn't cheap. After whacking my head a few times, I generally try to buy good helmets. So, now I'm looking at another outlay of cash to help protect the marbles in my daughter's head. I consider it money well spent.
She was shaky at first, but soon regained confidence as she remembered how this thing worked. She happily made lap after lap around the block, and my mood lightened. If I couldn't get my daily endorphin rush and soak in all of that sun, at least she could. I briefly debated joining her, but all too soon the window closed and life intruded.
The next day it rained.
My wife stopped me at the top of the stairs.
"What time are you picking up the kids from school?"
"Wait. Huh? When were you going to tell me this?"
"Right now."
We have this existing deal. Most days I take the kids to school, she picks them up afterwards so I can get in a decent ride at the warmest time of the day and still be home right about the same time as they get there. It works out well, and ensures I'm less grumpy. If I have to pick up the kids, any sort of riding messes with family time, dinner, homework, bedtime, and whatever other requirements pop into my wife's head. My time on the bike is precious to me, and the window to ride in semi-decent conditions is narrower this time of year. Dropping off kids kills the bike commuting concept for the moment, but maybe I'll go that route later in the summer to get the miles in.
So yeah, this curveball beaned me in the side of the head. I started getting grumpy.
It would have been different if it was raining or otherwise miserable. It was beautiful. In my dark mood, I considered the possibility that it was the last nice day of the year. We have had years in the past when we had a couple weeks or so of blue skies and then Seattle weather for the remaining months.
I was not a happy camper for the rest of the day. The bike stayed on top of the car, basking in the sun but locked in place.
I picked up the kids, went home, and crawled into bed to nap away the negativity. My wife arrived a little while later and asked if I wanted to get in a quick ride before we went to dinner with her sister. I looked at the clock, did some quick calculations, and realized with hurried preparations and a glancing shower afterwards, I could have gotten in a solid 20 minutes of riding. I demurred.
Instead, I fetched my daughter's bike out of the deepest, darkest recesses of the garage so she could ride. Her pretty princess helmet didn't fit her, so I substituted her mother's helmet. I had just bought my youngest son a new helmet a few days before, which wasn't cheap. After whacking my head a few times, I generally try to buy good helmets. So, now I'm looking at another outlay of cash to help protect the marbles in my daughter's head. I consider it money well spent.
She was shaky at first, but soon regained confidence as she remembered how this thing worked. She happily made lap after lap around the block, and my mood lightened. If I couldn't get my daily endorphin rush and soak in all of that sun, at least she could. I briefly debated joining her, but all too soon the window closed and life intruded.
The next day it rained.
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