Crazy Day

Earlier this summer Gert was decrying the fact that she had to go off and do things other than stay with me. Meaning, why did she have to go to a sitter when I get to sit at home all day watching TV and eating Bon Bons? Or, worse, why does she have to go out when Matilda gets to stay here? That Matilda is 12 and Gert is 5 means little.

So, we planned a Gert and Daddy bike ride day. The plan was I would get up and do my usual early morning training ride. I only did 22 miles instead of 30, like I have been every day. Then we went to the bank to drop off an obscene deposit for my company, to VJ for coffee and then off to ride the trail for a bit and then lunch at the lakeside cafe. When we were done, we would meet mom at home to go pick up our new vehicle, a marine blue Jeep Patriot Limited with Boston Acoustics sound system (because, let's face it, every thing for me has to revolve around how good my music sounds--tested the system with Joe Henry's Tiny Voices and it sounded great).

Note to Deborah: Finnegan fit perfectly in the back. We put down his fluffy bed and had a great time on a family ride. Samson would sit nicely in the center in the back seat and there are some of those clippy things for car seats behind the seats. If you're worried about the dogs popping their heads over and drooling on the soon-to-arrive tyke, no biggie. You can get a net that will keep them from crossing over the seat line. Plus, it's safer for them in case you have to stop suddenly.

Anyway, Gert rode 4.1 miles and did not complain one bit, though the butterfly breaks and Clifbar Z-bars probably helped. At one point a train passed and Gert was thrilled when the engineer blew the horn and waved to her.

She flew up a pretty serious hill, though she might have gotten a pull at the end (which resulted in a giggle because I was able to get her up at a pretty good clip). After we crossed a bridge, and watched the traffic on a highway behind us and a road below us, we rode down to a pond and sat on bench watching the dragonflies and people with their stupid aerobars who ride 12 mph. Don't get that.

After our epic ride, we stopped at the lakeside cafe where she recharged with a nice man-sized burger. I had a boring turkey sandwhich. Gert chowed. I think she discovered what happens when you exercise more than you usually do. We grabbed some ice cream on the way out and headed home.

"Dad," she said, "can you play that song that reminds you of me?"

"This one," I asked?

"Yeah."

"You know what he's saying, right? He's telling his daughter that if she's scared, he'll always watch her and protect her. And that he doesn't think there's a father who has ever loved a daughter as much as he loves her. Do you think that's true? Do you think there's a father who loves his daughter as much as I love you?"

"Well," she said, "you love me pretty much."

She was quiet for a bit.

"Dad? I have tears in my eyes."

"Why?"

"They're not bad tears. The song is making them. And because I had a good day. And it was a good ride."

Nope. I really don't think there ever has been a father who loved his daughter as much as I love her. I really don't think it's remotely possible.