Our ten year-old daughter has outgrown her old bike - both the size and the princessy purple and pink colors. Her new one is a beautiful aqua blue, her first with gears and no pedal breaks. This afternoon was warmish and sunny so we ventured out for a ride.
Our suburb, which borders the Mississippi, has a wonderful bike trail with the river and its wildlife and barge traffic on one side and active train tracks on the other. Throw in the busy dog park along the path and it's almost sensory overload!
However, between our house and the bike trail is a really steep hill. It usually takes me several weeks of biking before I've worked up enough strength to get back up without stopping to walk. It's not just that I'm out of shape, the hill is just that big. I've tried every possible street in town that leads away from the river and, although some hills are better than others, they're all bad.
The hardest part of our bike ride today was letting Sarah ride down the hill. What if she went too fast, fell off her bike, slid on the gravel, ran into a car, used the hand brakes too enthusiastically? Her new bike seemed suddenly enormous and dangerous to me but she was confident and un-princesslike with her long hair flying, her unzipped sweatshirt flapping, her laughter tinged with both delight and fear. Sure, we had to walk back up at the end of our ride, but the conversation and the purple crocuses along the road eased the way.
How many of us inch down the big challenges and opportunities of life, both hands on the brakes, worried that we might make mistakes, go off the trail, have to limp back up? Some risks are worth taking.
Next time, she plans to ease up on the brakes and go a little faster down the hill.
I may have to send her with her father.
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