First Bike Ride With Son

The little red bike with the plastic training wheels had been taken for a spin or two around the back porch, but Curt's first real ride down the street didn't come until Sunday, about three weeks after he got the bicycle for his fourth birthday.
His bike is a lot cooler than my first bike. His, with its snazzy artwork, looks like a Lilliputian mountain bike. Mine looked like the thing Dorothy rode to flee the tornado.
I'd been meaning to do the father-son bike ride for three weeks, but one thing or another prevented us from doing so.
So yesterday, after church, it was time to saddle up and go for a ride.
I secured his little safety helmet and put on mine. I made some adjustments to his training wheels and then pumped up the tires on my mountain bike. I made a minor show of it. The preparations added to the experience for Curt.
Setting off down the street, the going was slow at first. Curt is the kind of guy who likes to stop and kick the ant piles. I suppose I'm kind of like that, too.
We went so slow that keeping the bike from falling over became a challenge. In an effort to get Curt to pick up the pace, I raced down the street to show him how fast a bike could go. This only made him stop and holler at me. I tried circling him, but then he'd just circle, too, like a couple of birds with nothing better to do than lazily ride the air currents.
Eventually, he picked up the pace on his own terms, and we were riding side-by-side around the half-mile neighborhood loop.
By the time we got back to the house, he was tuckered and begging for juice and lunch. We methodically parked our bikes, took off our helmets and stored them away.
The experience reminded me of the long bike rides I used to take with my dad. We'd maybe only go six or seven miles total, but when you're a kid, distances such as that seem so much longer, and the adventure so much more profound.
There'll be many father-son bike trips in my future, but yesterday's leisurely half mile will be one trek I'll never forget.