We were cycling down a pleasant path, my wife, three kids, and I, all but the youngest riding bikes heavy laden with gear for camping and cooking and generally surviving as a cycle-touring family of five. I was in my usual spot in front, setting a gentle pace, my wife in the back keeping on eye on things. Our three charges between, the younger two riding side by side and chatting away in their imaginary childlike world. Everything was good with the Clarke family.
A cyclist was coming in the other direction, something that happens all the time, nothing to worry about.
Unless, that is, you are 10 and hardly paying attention. And the weather is perfect, the tailwind pushing you along making cycling easier, your brother is talking away playing one of those “games” where you are always creating characters but mostly forgetting to have those character actually do anything.
Unless the sun is shining and the birds are chirping and you have been on you bike for three hours and your little legs have 60 kilometres in them.
Unless all of this is making you a bit dopey.
In that case, a rider coming from the other side may pose a problem, no matter how slow and perfectly straight he is riding; no matter that he is giving you more than enough space because he is not sure what he is looking at as he comes across a family on bikes in the middle of nowhere, carrying all sorts of gear, the dad out front pulling a trailer.
Yes, in that case, you just might look up a little too late, and even though everything is fine and no “corrective action” on your part is needed, you might, you just might, swerve a little to the right, which would be fine, you and your brother often cycle close together, your handlebars practically touching, sometimes pulling at each other when climbing hills, or riding with your arms over each other shoulder to show in that way of children doing something with great confidence and panache, except your brother has a pannier bag on his bike. The bag juts out 10 maybe 12 inches.
Yes in that case, you are about to crash.
Because you are dopey, because the scene has been so serene, you are about to crash spectacularly.
It happens so fast, even the quick catlike reflexes of a a 10 year old cannot react fast enough or clever enough to tuck and roll.
It happens so fast the only instinct looks something like a swan dive, chest first, exposing shoulders, breastplate, and face to the pavement.
Later we will learn you have cuts and bruises all over, including a spectacular line of four (one on each shoulder and one on each side of your breastplate).
In the moment what we see is the blood.
Mom takes a few breaths and jumps into action.
The two older boys stop dead and do exactly as they are told, efficient, quiet, bikes are all pulled aside, first aid kit is located and opened, they are a unit.
I stand there and think, “what the hell are we doing here? How do we allow ourselves into such messes?” I remember a time, maybe 10 years ago when one of them—going way too fast—swerved on a run bike, the sort of swerve that causes the little bike to stop and flip over itself forward, the kid flying over the handlebars. As they fell they yelled, “I’m fine” before they even crashed. That’s how we got here.
And here I trust my wife, such a capable woman who knows how to quickly clean the kid up. And I do the dad thing and pick up the bike, start making sure it is ok. I pull out my phone, our ride is surely over, where is the closest place to get stitches? Well, sir, it is Sunday so the answer to that is tomorrow morning.
Clearly we are not camping tonight, we need to get that kid safe, clean, warm, into a soft environment. iPhone out, it’s only 6.6km to the closest hotel. I look at the lad, catching his breath, tough little kid, I rinse him off with water from a water bottle, relieving mom a moment. Clearly no broken bones.
“Ok, Coo Bear you don’t look too bad, you look like you were in a good fight, you tell people they should see the other guy” (dads, always using jokes to avoid emotions).
My dad agrees to come bail us out of the hotel in the morning, he will drive and provide a lift for my wife and the younger two kids, the oldest and I don’t fit in the 5 seater so we will finish the trip on bikes, hauling longer days to get back fast, and adventure awaits us.
“I looked and we can get to a hotel in 6.6kms. I think you can do it, you are strong and tough, you got this! What do you think?”
Tears still smeared on his face, blood all over his torn clothing, he half smiles, nods, “yes” he says, “I got this.” I hope no matter act life throws at him he will retain this toughness, this ability to look at something hard and—if its needed or worth doing—set about getting it done.
“Shit, he might be in shock” I think but outside, outside I say, “that’s it, I will lead us there, we will go really slow, let me know if we need to go slower, the bumps will hurt buts its mostly smooth.”
He doesn’t even bother to respond.
I hear him click a foot onto a pedal, he is ready to roll.
We get moving, before long he wants me to speed up, this is too slow.
Man I love parenting little boys.
Yes everything was good with the Clarke Family.
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