The 12-Year-Old Me Went Biking with My Son

Not actually us but it's strangely close.

I'm still reflecting on the bike ride I had with my son last night on one of the last warm evenings of summer. I asked him recently if he had any other goals or things he wanted to do before the summer ended. He thought about it and said, "I want to ride our bikes to Grandma's." He informed me it was only half the distance of our big 18 KM bike path bike ride a week or so ago. I checked it out on Google Maps and the kid was right (9 KM one way.) He knows his geography, that boy.

This was his first time in traffic. Mine too, in my latest cycling rebirth. It says a lot about how far I've come in two month. I was completely comfortable riding in public. And two months ago I was chasing my son, sucking wind. Nowadays the little bugger has to keep up with me (which is hard for the poor little guy.)

The bike ride was flawless and relaxed. No pushing hard to beat the sun or oncoming storms. It was leisurely, stress-free and fun. It reminded me of when I was about eleven or twelve years old, a time when I broke free from the constraints of my neighbourhood and started exploring the city, often on warm summer evenings. It was during that time that I really fell in love with cycling.

Last night those old childhood cycling feelings of freedom and joy were rekindled. My inner child who adored cycling got to go for a bike ride with my beloved boy, Aiden, who also adores cycling, even before he knew his daddy was capable of it.