Now the long version. After a stop for some roadside apples, I pointed familiar landmarks in the distance along our route home. All was perfect until I suddenly heard “PSSSSSSTTT”. I instantly felt a surge of adrenaline through my body since I knew the way home would take longer than planned with the flat tire on the bike cart. I didn’t have any pump, tools, or spare tube to repair the flat so I checked with my husband if I could travel the remaining 10 miles on the rim. He assured me he had done so previously, and it would be a challenge (when the kids were several years younger and lighter). I was up for a workout, so we continued on.
After about 2 miles, I suddenly heard another alarming sound “THWACK, THWACK, THWACK.” My eyes bulged as I turned around to see loose rubber flapping off the rim. I sunk, thinking our journey had come to an end. After dismounting, I realized it was only the tube escaping from the loose tire. I quickly snagged the tube and threw it in the cart. My challenge had just gotten a bit harder. We descended hills at a fraction of the speed we had earlier. Even then, the wheel wobbled so much the younger kids cautioned me to slow down. They frequently reported that the “The tire is not off yet.”
I welcomed the break to pick some raspberries my daughter spotted. She has quite the eye, earlier she had pointed out a pair of sandhill cranes. I made a point to ask the kids to flip-flop and rearrange the cart, so all the heaviest cargo was on the side opposite of the flat. As we passed several remnants of shredded tires spewed along the roadside, I was happy ours was holding on.
Again, on the way home we hit rain showers. My oldest kept up the positive attitude and the younger ones followed suit. As the pavement became wet, the newest sound behind me became “Squeak, squeak, squeak,” from the floppy wet rubber donut rubbing the pavement. Accompanying this was a chorus of“Rain, rain, go away. Come again another day.”
Getting dropped
We resumed our putt-putt and I became emotional reflecting on how my oldest blossomed as an endurance athlete. All she needed to do was do a lap or two around the yard and she’d have completed her own triathlon.
As I ran out of gears on the final hill, I asked my younger daughter if she’d be willing to cash in on her earlier offer to hop out and run for a little bit. She politely informed me she had changed her mind. It was clear that I literally needed to “unhitch the plow” so when I granted permission for the oldest to take off at her own pace the final mile home, she effortlessly cruised ahead. She ended up biking all the way up the final hill. I witnessed from behind her first-ever ascent up the 200 foot hill without a single stop…clearly the ride hadn’t been too much for her. Fortuitously, I was then passed by a car with the driver (who I knew) shouting “Faster, faster!” to me. I couldn’t help but smile.
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