As if our ridiculous goal to scale Mt. Elbert wasn’t enough, Jamie and I are going to make our second attempt at biking a gorgeous 20-mile trail through the mountains near Breckenridge with kids in tow this weekend.
The first time we tried, we barely made it to the trailhead after a series of mishaps including when my bike repeatedly fell off the very expensive Yakima rack on my Jeep and I ended up clutching the stupid bike during the whole drive. For clarification, I did this whilst in the passenger’s seat, not on top of the rack (though I’m sure the thought did cross Jamie’s mind).
Once we arrived, we could not get Jamie’s bike off the stupid rack (you know: the same rack we couldn’t get the other bike to stay on). Moody and irascible, we loaded Hadley up in the Chariot trailer and forced ourselves to hit the trail. We went down the large slope, relishing in the simplicity, the ease, the freedom of flight, and thinking it was all so worth it.
We turned around about halfway due to some threatening storm clouds. My ascent was fairly easy. After all, I was not hauling the 40-pound bike trailer. Jamie grunted and sweated the traverse and I realized for the first time in my life, I WAS BEATING HIM. And all he needed was a 40-pound handicap.
And then it started raining.
I won’t go into the sordid details but just know that it has been two years since we have even touched our bikes. Of course, a little thing called pregnancy, having Bode and then not wanting to sit on That-Place-Where-I-Had-Just-Birthed-A-Watermelon also had something to do with it.
We finally dusted off our bikes and got them tuned up a couple of months ago for a whopping $120 (the going rate in the rip-off-that-is Denver). For our first outing, we hooked up the Chariot and loaded the children.
I was the lucky party who hauled them this time; about 60 pounds is my best calculation. We cruised around the neighborhood and down to a beautifully preserved open space park as expressive clouds followed our every move. With the wind billowing at my back, I breathed with a clarity of spirit I have not known for months and squealed to Jamie,
“This feels incredible to be back on the bike. That Chariot is so amazingly smooth that I can barely feel that I am pulling the kids!”
And felt every single one of those 60 pounds. Plus, the extra post-pregnancy 20 I’m still hauling around. I needed encouragement.
“Help Mommy go up this hill! Cheer for me, Haddie!”
“Daddy is going faster. You are going slow!”
A simple “Go Mommy” would have worked just dandy.
I miraculously made it up the hill without dismounting while Jamie circled around me like a smug piranha. Yeah, he remembered the pain-that-was-Breckenridge. And in a few short hours, so it begins. Again.
P.S. Stop the mom blog presses! I just found out I won “Most Athletic” in the Bloggy Hoss Elections. Thank you for all who voted for me. And did I say I crawled up that hill on the bike? I meant to say cruised. Really….
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 