Bamboozled

For my birthday this year, I got two new bikes, one with a child seat attached. I was really excited, as we already had several bikes and a trailer, but we had yet to figure out a good set up for all going on family rides. For one thing, both of Jesse's bikes were very expensive racing bikes, not the kind you would risk bending the frame on with a trailer. For another thing, my bike was an older model road bike, and I do not have the coordination for skinny tires and breaks out of easy reach. And finally, we only had two seats for kids, so Cooper always had to ride her own bike, which meant that I could have walked faster than we ever rode. Seriously.

So anyway, my husband, with our family in mind, got us all set up to cruise around Italy in comfort and style. And I totally bought, hook line and sinker, when he was hyping up how much fun this would be, going for family bike rides, and seeing more of our town and country side.

In the last several weeks, we have gone for several afternoon rides with our friends the Browns, and I finally figured out the flaw in Jesse's plan. I hate exercise. HATE it. I was picturing these slow, meandering rides with the wind flowing in my hair, huge smiles on all our faces as we glide through the fields on smooth, flat roads. In reality, biking in Italy means lots of hills, somehow almost all going up, and while the rides are slow (thank you me) and definitely meandering, I am panting and sweating too much to smile while I glide. It finally clicked in my head this last Sunday, riding up yet another hill, legs so achy I was seriously doubting my ability to make it, with my husband calling, "Last one this time, really!" Somehow I have been tricked into eagerly jumping on my bike to go work out. I have been bamboozled.

And the worst part is, it's so gorgeous, all I want to do the whole time we're riding is take pictures, but getting anywhere and stopping for pictures don't really go together. Plus, I'm always way too far behind to be able to get my camera from the trailer attached to Jesse's bike.

Luckily, I think to keep me suckered in, the rest of the crew always takes pity on me (it's okay, we all say it's for the kids) and we always stop for ice cream. And then I get to take my pictures :).








Sidenote to all current or future parents of young children who like chocolate ice cream: buy only dark brown or black clothing for your children. Or maybe white (God bless bleach). Zeke's winter wardrobe is dwindling quickly as our stops at the gelateria are becoming routine (ie, stained shirts are becoming routine).