Tarmac is just tarmac, right? Wrong.
Our kids love their bikes, whether it is going out on day-long adventures during the summer holidays or just taking advantage of the fact we live at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac to play with their friends, chalking out complex road systems or setting up slalom runs with plastic cones. Many a weekend afternoon in our road has been filled with the sound of rumbling tyres and squealing brakes as bikes, pedal-karts and scooters hurtle to and fro in front of our house.
One of the other strings to my blogging bow is running a collaborative cycling website, so in the week that Britain hosts its premier annual race, the Tour of Britain, it only seemed fitting that my photo this week should be of our eldest, Isaac, leaning adeptly into a tight turn on his bike.
On this little apron of tarmac in front of our and our neighbours’ houses, we have watched Isaac and Toby progress from scooter to balance bike to the independence of their own bikes. Kara isn’t far from joining them either – she mastered cycling with training wheels some time ago, and I’ll wager she’ll be pedalling about on two wheels by her fourth birthday or soon thereafter.
To anyone else’s eye, it may only be a strip of nondescript tarmac much like any other, but it will always hold special memories for me. It’s like the Brickyard at Indianapolis, Eau Rouge at Spa and the Hangar Straight at Silverstone all rolled into one.
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