I've taken Ellie for two separate 17 mile rides this week. Our halfway point is a park with an groovy set of monkey bars. Which, by the way, she can traverse like, well, like a speedy little monkey. She loves it, so we make sure to pit stop there.
There are quite a few up hills and one gloriously long down hill (to which she commented, This is so great! I was getting too hot and now I'm feeling a little bit cold. I love it!) on our route.
Anyway, we have this little system for navigating hills that goes like this:
Mom, are we going uphill right now?
Gasp. Yes. Pant.
Oh man, dis sure is a big hill, so I can't talk to you.
That's -huff- right -puff-.
I can't wait until we are on the downhill side of it.
In my head ('cuz my lungs are barely functional): Me either, me either.
Mom, did you hear me 'cuz I'm still gonna talk - only not to you, just myself. Becept out loud.
One other thing that happened is we hit a part of the trail where some doofus Parks & Rec staff member had poured fine sand about 2 inches deep next to a busy road. It was tricky to navigate without tipping the bike. I even had to hop off quickly, gashing the back of my leg with the pedal. I may have said, "That was damned dangerous."
How come mom?
Because sand hates bike tires and can tip you over and we are right next to a very busy road.
And when we got across to the other side, she said, Boy that sure was damned dangerous too. Dere is lots of sand all over that trail part.
Kudos to her for nailing the context.
*Except with how cute she is, there's bound to more material. I promise to keep some of them to myself.