Blood, sweat, gears, and tears

You know those ideas that start out sounding like good ideas? Ones like, I think I'll take the kids on a little bike ride? I'm thinking that instead of going to the gym, I'll pack my four year old and my nearly one year old into the trailer and just take a nice flat ride around the Toro Park neighborhood not far from my parents' house.

It has been a while since I rode around Toro Park. I know I used to do it when I lived here, and was about 23, and childless. My memory clearly does not serve, because I think I can just bike on a relatively flat trail straight around the smallish suburb, which sounds just about right with a 40-pounder and a 20-pounder in the trailer.

Things start off well; I bike away from the road and my parked car, heading down a dirt path next to nice golden hills and the occasional oak tree. Okay, so it is really windy. And the kids are really heavy.

Right about the time I think the trail is going to head back toward the front of the neighborhood, it suddenly veers the other way, heading straight up a very steep, gravelly hill. I bike my darnedest until I realize that no matter how low the gear, I am not going to be able to get up the hill. I'll just walk.

About 1/3 of the way up the hill, the bike starts frantically trying to bike itself out of my hands and backward down the hill, and I realize I probably only outweigh the bike, trailer, and kids by about 15 pounds. I leap my bare legs out of the way of its threatening chain, still maintaining my grip so as to avoid letting my children plummet to the bottom of the hill without me.

I finally make it to the top. Whew! At least the ride back down will be fun. Glad we're almost there! Except we aren't. Before my heart has recovered from the first climb, I'm upon another. And another. Selah keeps asking me nearly inaudible questions, and Asher occasionally cries. I try to ignore them all so the din doesn't drive me to commit suicide.

When I finally get to coast downhill a little, the bike gives a sudden lurch, which I don't really understand, but I keep going. To the next hill. Boy, I can't believe how much farther this has gone than I thought! Can't wait 'til we finally go downhill again! Which we don't, not for a while. I look back down the hill at the neighborhood, wondering if there's another way out, one other than turning back and having to go back uphill again, other than continuing on for who knows how long. The neighborhood presents a wall of houses, presenting their own solid backyard wall. I have to keep going. I fight the wind, try to use my abs, try to just get to the top of this friggin' hill. Asher is crying in earnest at this point; his tiny bike helmet is smushed down over his tiny face, covering his eyes. I look back, but feel helpless to do anything about it.

I finally reach a curve. My exhausted eyes are greeted with a familiar sight. They have seen this sight before when I saw that movie, Alive, about the soccer team that crashes in the Andes. They reach the top of their mountain, and just see more mountains, and more mountains. The path curves on ahead. I consider calling my dad, asking how far the trail goes. I realize it doesn't matter, because I have to keep going.

Finally, downhill! I have a few scares in sand-puddles, when my bike careens from side to side, but I don't want to lose any of my precious, precious momentum. I nearly shoot past what I have been looking for all this time--a tiny path leading back into the neighborhood! I turn around and walk my bike down it. At this point, I realize I have pulled my groin. I hear Selah trying to pacify Asher and fix his helmet, and I mentally bless her little heart. I do so again when I'm trying to squeeze the bike and the trailer uphill between a fence and a bush, and she says, "I'm making it easier now, Mommy!" while leaning forward. I hardly hear her over my grunts; I am trying to force the bike trailer around a corner on this path that is maybe 10 inches wide.

I finally see road ahead of me. Blocked by a wooden fence with a bike-sized--not trailer-sized--hole in it. I look around wildly, but no helicopters are looming yet. I kneel down, wincing from pain, and try to take the trailer off of my bike. I can't; the lurch I felt earlier was the trailer's safety belt unhooking itself and winding inextricably around the axle. I yank, twist, and turn until I unhook it, and ten minutes later I succeed in unraveling the deteriorating belt. Asher sits quietly, still mostly covered by his helmet, and I wonder if he's sleeping, injured, or just frightened by his half-dead, crazed mother. Selah looks interested and hopeful.

Spotting some passers-by, I frantically wave and gasp, "Will you help me?" They lift my trailer over the wall and look like they want to get the hell away from me when I exhaustedly mutter something about being tired, going too far. I hook the stinking heavy thing back onto my bike--would it be wrong to just leave them here--and start pedaling slowly back toward the car, still through the wind. Why is this still uphill? I wonder.

I make it back to the car, at long last. Selah says, "Whew! I am TIRED!" I don't know whether to laugh or cry. But I made it! Now I just need to get the bike and trailer and children back into the car. It sounds impossible. I manage. I drive home, blurry-eyed and wondering what's for dinner.