Have I mentioned how much I miss my bike shorts and gloves?

No? Perhaps because I didn’t remember until this morning, when I positioned my (no longer trail hardened) bottom back in the saddle and pushed off down the trail. My breath created big puffs of frosty white in the air in front of me, fogging up my glasses; “This is going to hurt,” I muttered under my breath. Tony heard me and chuckled, “No kidding.” And while I’m whining, can I just say, that I miss my Ergo seat as well? I’ll spare you the details, I can assure you that, while the outside of me has recovered tolerably well, after four babies, not everything is where I left it. And also: I am out of shape. Bicycling shape is different from backpacking and hiking shape; I’ll leave it at that.

5 km in, my muscles settled into a, once familiar, routine and my mind expanded into our surroundings instead of whinging over the residuals of yesterday’s ride.

Jack Frost ran ahead of us painting every grass blade and nodding seed head with hoary frost; a reflection of the majestic white giants looming against an ice blue morning sky. We cycled through sheep fields and past herds of deer who looked up with mouthfuls of what was left of the green to chew and wonder what we were about. We swept down the broad S of Tiger Hill, the steepest section of the Otago Central Rail Trail and out onto the gradual decline. Sheep pulled their woolens up around their ears and I adjusted my hat beneath my helmet. Stone giants knelt beside navy pools reflecting white gossamer clouds and performed their morning ablutions, as stiff and sore looking as I felt.

Ezra rode with me today.

When he was tiny and would sit on his trail-a-bike behind me he considered it his job to sing to keep me going. Evidently he has not forgotten. He insisted we make up a song:

“Rollin’ rollin’ rollin’… wow my buns are swollen… rollin’ rollin’ rollin’… rawhide!

Wow my buns are freezing, and my lungs are wheezing, hoping for some warm for my ride!”

We sang lustily. He kept trying for a second verse, but it never quite came together.

He stopped to take off a layer. I hollered, “See ya in Clyde!” As I whisked on down the path ahead of him, thinking and enjoying the morning.

It occurred to me, today, that my status in life has changed.

I can’t quite put my finger on when it happened, but it has definitely, subtly happened. I’ve gone from the one who carries kids and bags to the one who is carried for, and the one who encourages everyone along, to the one who is encouraged. I am no longer “bigger, better, or faster” than my progeny. In fact, I’m “smaller, struggling and slower” much of the time. I have become a protected person.

Case in point: Ezra brought me tea and orange juice this morning before I was even out of bed. Gabe followed that up with fruit salad and toast. Elisha packed my panniers and informed me that he’d rubbed all the frost off of my bike seat. Hannah rolls up and asks how I’m doing. The boys carry the bags. Hannah does a final check of the accommodation to be sure we haven’t left anything. I’ve worked myself out of a job, in many respects, and it’s a good feeling.

I stopped a mile or so on and looked back, sipping my tea, one foot leaning on my bike tube. When I saw the sheep fleeing up the hillside I knew Ez was fine and rolling, so I pedaled on at a slow, maternal speed, letting him think he was lapping me. A key point in fostering adventurers and keeping them alive seems to be letting them think they’re sheets to the wind with no net, while actually monitoring the condition of the creatures around them to ascertain their viability and status.

“You alright, Mom?” he asked as he whipped past on the left, and surged into the foreground.

I was better than alright.

I laughed so loud Tony thought I was crying when I swept around the corner and looked up to see Gabriel and Elisha gesticulating like Olympian gold medalists from their perch on top of a cliff. Apparently they got so far ahead they thought they’d stop and have a climb while they waited. My sore muscles couldn’t imagine bounding up the rocks, but they’re boys, after all, and they live to be King of the hill.

We rolled into Clyde, victorious. Clare, from the Rail Trust and Steve from Shebikeshebikes were there waiting for us; smiling from ear to ear. They were as glad as we were for the good weather and the beautiful ride. It was a fantastic adventure and we’re so thankful to both of them for generously arranging it all for us. In a few days we’ll have more photos to share and a post making our recommendations as to how you can ride the Otago Central Rail Trail too. Of all of the things we’ve done in New Zealand, I have to say, this is the very best yet!