“I’m hot. And I have a headache.”
Great. We’ve poked along for two measely miles and she’s already wasted?
As she slouches forward on her Rans Rocket, I squirt water through her helmet with my water bottle. Her red face brightens. “Hey, let me do that!” I snap a couple of photos while she douses herself. Ok, she’s coming around. I gotta take this real easy. She’s not like her brothers, remember. And this was your idea, not hers.
Fifteen minutes later. “How much longer till we’re at the top of this hill?”
Hill? What hill is she talking about? This bike trail is flat as a fucking pancake for chrissake and we’ve been roaring along at what, 5 MPH for the last 15 minutes?
“Are you sure we’re going uphill?” I ask innocently.
“Yeah, I can tell by the angle of my crank on the horizon.”
“I’m sure it flattens out just around this bend. Or maybe the next bend. Could be the one after that, though.”
She’s not laughing. Better take another break.
“Let me get a shot of you with that great meadow as a backdrop. I love this rolling farmland here.”
Meadow shmeadow. I see her eyes lock on the uphill trail ahead, and she sighs like only a 16 year old can.
“When we get closer to the tunnel, the trail slopes downward, and you’ll feel the cool, moist air from it before you even see the entrance.”
Okay, good, I can see the anticipation in her face. Is this a good time to give her the Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance ‘discomfort’ lecture? Nah, better save it for the ride home if we’re in a victory mode.
“Let’s ask these bikers how much longer before we get to the tunnel.”
Oy. A new version of “Are we there yet?” Still a kid.
“You ask ’em. I like the anticipation of not knowing.”
Silence. I guess that was a dad-type answer. Better knock that shit off or she’ll regress.
A bunch of farm kids with a backyard lemonade and ice cream stand come into view, so I ask them. “You’re real close but take a break here before you go!”
We zoom past.
“I thought you didn’t want to know, Dad.”
“I don’t but I did it for you.” Sorta the truth.
“Thank you.”
That was sincere. Sweet kid.
It’s downhill now, just like I remembered, and within 15 seconds, we slam into the cool tunnel fog. Ahh, the promised land!
Two hours and a bar room lunch later, we’re flying back down the trail. Sonofabitch she was right. This was uphill all the way. We’re hooting and hollering in high gear, and high-fiving when we get back to the car at the bike trail headquarters in Sparta.
“We were even gaining on some people on the way back” she excitedly tells her mom on her cell phone.
I’m a damn lucky father today. 