Distance: 1.5 mi.
Time: No clue
Miles to go: 1996.25
Stupid mud… That’s what the boy kept saying. And he cursed it every time he had to ride through a puddle. It slowed him down, he said. It made it hard to pedal. No amount of coaching or encouragement would help. “Pedal faster up to the mud and then just pedal right through”… didn’t work. “I can’t see the mud sometimes”, said he. “Ride closer to the shoulder where less traffic has been and it’s a little bit higher”, says I. That didn’t work either… and so it went.
That was our “father and son” time. The net result was that I now run too fast for him to keep up with (according to him) and his bicycle (a mountain bike) doesn’t “do well” in the mud… Somewhere Gary Fisher just rolled over in his grave… if he’s dead…
One last mud puddle did him in and, as I was chatting with a familiar runner on the trail, the boy faded, stopped and broke down in tears… *sigh* I’ve spawned a wimp… Anyway, I made him get off and walk and I pushed his bike the remaining mile and a quarter back to the car. By the end of it his spirits were back up, due to some silliness (did I mention that 10 year old boys find flatulence EXTREMELY funny? …at least, this one does… Good thing for me I had back to back meals of beans and chili). Sometimes ya gotta pick yer battles… I could have yelled and been mad, but he was genuinely upset. Why make it worse. It just increases the chance that he WON’T go next time. Not good.
I’m sure someday he will come in, fresh off a mountain bike ride, covered in mud, with a wild eyed grin and say something profound like “That was COOL… and I only bled TWICE!!!” But until then… *sigh*