Whiplash

Back on the bike today...whole new set of rules: Kids field day--in city riding with luggage. The first piece, my outstanding little son, Mr. Peter; his post is dangling from a seat-pole mounted RomerJockey Kindersitz. It is a garish green press molded plastic kid-horn, probably maxed out by his near thirty pounds-but rugged, sturdy and a great puddle-fender none-the-less--perfect observational perch for a curious 4-year old. Next up from him is young GooG, my 18-month old, top heavy, crystal clear-eyed boy, hunched over my upper back like a baby gorilla in an LL Bean aluminum framed kid tote (real name Grady). Being so laden, I drift down the small home-hill ands gingerly edge into traffic on South St.

The distribution of weight is such that spontaneous wheelies can occur with a strong pedal thrust, and sharp turns often pinch the leg of the Kindersitz against my rear tire. The "buzzing" scares off any urge to press the limits of riding. I ride atop my trusty trek with a new, sharper awareness of the moving shapes around me. All of my motions are spongy, like soft car brakes or deflated tires. An urge to stick to the sidewalk is probably quite healthy, but it's pitted and pocked surface warns me away early.

We travel the miles out to Rollins Park in South Concord and greet the throng of 1st through 5th graders and a host of teachers, aids and the full elementary paramedic squad (two schools nurses camped at the gazebo). Riding into the play area does not recall any trail conquering thrills, but a wave of relief that we are all safe and here--we join into the games and groups.

Time slips by and we gather under a truly gnarled red oak for a lunch break. My littlest is showing signs of an approaching nap, and Mr. Peter has been made an honorary member of his big Sister's "Stripe Team". We chow down cold dogs, chips and fresh fruit, and It falls to me to break the news to Mr. Peter--we can't stay the day. He is sad, and considers a pout, but his winning smile overcomes and he readies himself to go with Dad--must love the wind in his hair like the old man.

Our course home includes the pedestrian obstacle course around the state capitol buildings and legislative annex; a peculiar lunch time crowd, distinctly divided by class: Well-dressed--almost glamorous-- senators, mingling with state workers and occasional citizen petitioners. The break in the morning gray has clearly lightened everyone's Friday mind. We chase down a couple of green lights by alternating between two parallel streets and swing onto the calm shade of Union st. A few strokes from home, I feel the heavy head of my little gorilla plunk softly onto my neck. It is warm and furry and a sweet feeling that for now, we belong together crowds my heart and I pull into the drive for the de-quip. Life is good, even when tame--the trick is modulation: always forward-- keep it new and remember the little people are always watching.