The new revolutions by the crankettes

They’re getting closer to the destination, but that might not be the goal

Loyal readers of this column will know that I have twin daughters (a.k.a. the Crankettes), now eight years old. I’m 52, so the mathematically inclined will realize that I was older than the average new father when they arrived. And time being what it is, I’m even older than that now.

Shortly after they were born, I wrote a wistful piece in this magazine envisioning our future family bike rides – which at the time I believed would be blissful adventures through the local park, handlebar streamers (mine, of course) fluttering in the wind as I introduced them to the joys of cycling.

Things rarely play out the way I imagine they will. Cycling with my kids is certainly no exception to this pattern. Our earliest attempts involved me piling both of them into a multi-sport stroller and attaching said stroller to the back of my bike. In a moment of hubris, I chose to hitch this device to my fixedgear bike. All was well and good for the downhill portion of the ride, and tolerable for the flat portion. But as we know, what goes down must later go up (I think that’s how the saying goes). It was on the uphill part of the ride home that I paid the price for picking a bike with only one stiff gear.

I made it about halfway up the hill back to my house before I ran out of juice. As mighty as I am, I couldn’t turn the pedals over any further. I came to a dead stop, stuck in a track stand with two toddlers in a basket behind me.

I was on the verge of falling over when a car drove past me slowly.

“Come on, buddy! You can do it!” yelled the driver, giving me an enthusiastic and entirely genuine thumbs-up.

I gave a mighty push and somehow got the whole contraption moving again, creeping at about 2 km/h toward the crest of the hill. When I got home, I detached the trailer from my bike, freed the children (whom I discovered had enjoyed this no more than I had) and resolved never to use the thing again.

But things i mproved from that point on. Soon we moved to balance bikes, and then their first pedal bikes. Gradually, year after year, trading up a size every summer, we’ve reached the point where they have real bikes and an appetite for real bike rides.

What’s a real bike ride for an eightyear-old rider, you ask? Well, that depends entirely on the eight year old. Both my daughters have heard me talk about how I like to ride out to Oakville, west of Toronto, as my usual route. This route is about 45 km one way from my house, so clearly it’s a bit much for little kids on steel bikes, each one weighing more than my bike. Or is it?

Crankette No. 1 said, “Daddy, I’ve been thinking all week about our bike ride. Today I want to go even farther than last week.”

And so the two of us did. We started out with a route of about 10 km, and it took us forever. We had to stop on all the hills several times, mostly because the stubborn little so-and-so refused to get into the correct gear as we started to climb. But week after week, we added a couple of kilometres to the ride. As I write this, we’re up to 22 km, with no stops on any of the hills. (There is the occasional pee stop.)

Then, Crankette No. 2 decided she wanted to come, too. Having done none of the previous rides, she still completed the full route, also with no stops and no complaining. As we reached our house and wheeled our bikes to the backyard, I asked her how she felt.

“I’m so super-dead,” she said. “I think I might actually be my own ghost.”

The Crankettes have become obsessed with completing the full distance by the end of the season. My wife doesn’t know what to make of this. In part, she thinks I’m crazy, in part, she worries about us being safe on the road, and in part, she’s amazed at the determination our kids are showing. As for me, it’s without question the highlight of my week. I may never actually make it to Oakville again, but that’s OK. I’ve achieved what I dreamed was possible eight years ago, handlebar streamers and all.

“I’m so super-dead. I think I might actually be my own ghost.”