The first ever mountain bike ride I attempted was on the Old Iron Creek road.  I was on a road bike with mountain bike tires.  It was a little big for me, I was uncomfortable on it, and, truthfully, did not want to be there.

It didn’t end well.

There was blood, a mangled helmet and plentiful screaming on my part.

When the boys decided this summer that they wanted to attempt this ride, I hoped for better results for them.  This was mainly because I was the only adult on said ride and I knew I would not do well with blood, lost teeth, or broken bones.

I needn’t have worried.

These boys, well, they’re growing up.  And as they do, I get to take part in fewer and fewer of their adventures.  This ride, this beautiful afternoon, was such a treat with them. It was an excellent way to redeem the ride and make new memories. I’m hoping for at least a few more in the years to come and I’d even be glad if a few more were on this same ride.

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