One of the first things Little Ring saw on television after he was born was the Veulta a Espana.
His first Halloween costume was a little cyclist.
Before his first birthday, he cheered his mama on to her first Fondo ride. Later that year he got his first bike, a balance bike, and we perched him on it and pushed him around the hallway so he could get used to it.
One of his early favourite movies was Triplettes de Belleville. Or as he likes to call it, Tour de France.
He is his father’s son. Whether he likes it or not.
Fortunately he does.
He loves zooming up and down the boardwalk to our nearby market on his balance bike. Although the ice cream treat that is usually his mid-ride reward may have something to do with that.
And last fall, when I pumped the tires on my mountain bike so we could do that ride together, the smile on his face outshone the sun.
“C’mon, let’s race daddy!” he said over and over on our little excursion. And off he’d zoom ahead of me, then stop and look back with a great big grin.
Recently we kicked it up a notch and started hitting the dirt trails out a UBC. They’re easy enough, wide, hard-packed and well-groomed with a couple of modest climbs that Little Ring likes to call “big hills.”
Our first ride there didn’t last long; he was more interested in playing in the park near the car. The next time out our ride doubled and he complained. Saturday, he didn’t want to leave.
“Let’s go again daddy,” he said when we pulled up to the car.
It’s moments like these that will make great copy for the opening pages of Little Ring’s biography after he wins the Tour de France. Clean, of course.
Ah, a Big Ring can dream…