The Bike Wreck

Any of you who have read Facebook or have chatted with me in the past few days know I have been sick...I mean sick sick. Whew, my body refuses to recover no matter what I do. By yesterday night I was not only sick and tired, I was sick of being sick and tired. In typical denial fashion I decided some exercise would make me feel better (at least I knew it would make my joints feel better). So, I ask Turner if he wants to go to the park to play baseball. He is game. We get there and he wants to ride his bike instead. It is 6:30, we've already had dinner, night falls quickly but the bike path is well-lit. So, we go for it.

Turner's bike is not the nicest and, unfortunately, it has a pedal problem. The problem being...the pedals won't stay screwed into the thing that connects them to the bike. I think I posted about this before. Anyway, Chiara tried to fix it when she was here but it didn't work. So now the goopy stuff she used to glue the pedals on makes screwing them back in more difficult although it does prevent the pedals from falling off as frequently. 

We are at the park. I am trying to jog beside Turner. He is singing as he rides (fairly typical). Just as he gets to the loud part of the song, his pedal comes off. He is really pumping his little legs keeping our pace fast. One large push on the right foot and the pedal falls off. His foot hits the ground. His handlebars swerve to the side. His front wheel follows and before I can catch him his helmet thuds on the concrete after his knees scrape the black and unforgiving ground. A lady a few feet back screams. There is a moment of silence. Then a deep breath. I bend to Turner and he looks up. Then he grabs his knees and cries. I scoop him up and then I sit down on the side of the path with him. He is puffing hard and breathing in big gulps. The lady who screamed and her male friend pick up Turner's bike. The man says, "Oh. I see the problem. The pedal fell off." The lady says, "I use to ride a bike but my pants always got stuck in the chain." I think, "Why don't you wear shorts then?" Turner says, "Mom. I crashed my bike." I hug him and say, "You sure did buddy." He whimpers a bit.

"Are you okay?"

"I think so. I have big boo boos now don't I?" I inspect his knees. They look barely scratched. I really and very surprised. If you only could have seen the wipe out. It was scary.

"When we get home we'll put some medicine and a band aid on them."

"Okay." We sit there awhile watching the helpful male friend of the screaming, pant stuck in chair lady as he tries desperately to fix Turner's bike. Finally, I absolve him of responsibility and say, "It is really tricky. Let me try." I fix his wheel. They walk on. I sit Turner's bike up. He stands beside it and puts his helmet on. 

"Are you ready to go home?"

"No Mom. I can make it. I am big enough to take that kind of crash. I can keep going."

"Ok. We have a long way and it is fine with Mommy if we go back. That was a bad wreck and you don't have to be so tough on my behalf."

He pulls my pants and says, "Look at me" just like I require him to do when he is in trouble. "I can do it Mommy." Well, enough said.

About fifteen minutes around the park (it is a three mile trek) Turner's wheel falls off again, but there is no crash. Two more pedals incidents and we find ourself in the dark part of the path next to the pond (and mosquitos). I feel sick. Really sick. I bend to the side and Turner yells for me that his pedal has fell off again. I finish being sick (quite thankful that NO ONE is near except us). I fix his pedal. On the 22nd street side of the park we pass the couple who tried to help us earlier. They cheer as we pass and Turner starts singing, "And we come round the bend. The Lightning Turner and his Mommy. We are riding and riding and racing. The people say hi. They scream for us. We pass them. We leave them. Her pants are stuck in the bike but we keep going and going and racing and running and faaaaast!" 

I stop another time to be sick. When we get to the car Turner says, "Mommy. You don't feel well do you?"

"No Turner I don't. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I don't feel well either. My crash marks hurt."

We go home, brush our teeth, wash our faces, and both of us are in bed before 9 PM. I am asleep first and wake up to Turner's nose pushed under my chin, his face resting on my chest, and his hands rubbing my cheek. "Mommy?" I groan or make some other indecipherable, half-asleep noise. "Sleeping with me will make you feel better." And, well, I guess it did.