Bartonville Whirled Chumpionships

Mama is on the plane to Vegas, we had Cheerios and cheese for dinner, and Noah is chomping to get on the track.

Reanie took to riding the tricycle properly (she could pedal before, but much like her Daddy's attempt at racing bikes, she was only going backwards). By 'properly,' I mean that she pedals, goes in a forward direction, and steers to avoid things she means to avoid and hit things, like her baby brother, she means to hit.

Noah crushed the Sunday ride on Sunday. He made it over Wichita Trail, Shiloh, and the Bartonville hill under his own power (no pushes). He was gapped on Wichita Trail and Shiloh, but he got back on under his own power. His undoing was the long, straight, flat section on 407. The group was riding 27 or so (tamer than normal), but he was just plain spun out in his biggest gear of 44x13. He was also dealing with a couple of guys who were dangling off the back. One was getting dropped, and the other didn't realize that there was a kid he was taking off the back when he'd coast, stretch, and sprint back on.

Now I realize, and I've prepared Noah that when the hot dog racers return that we probably won't make it over Wichita Trail with the group for awhile. But he's up for trying. He's really looking forward to racing on the track. Hope the track up here offers a separate race for the junior/youth. Otherwise it looks like we head to Houston to throw down with their youngsters program.

Buddy can't ride a bike, but any time someone rides down our road (which is a lot), he says, "Daddy." I'm pretty sure he means that the cyclists remind him of Daddy, not that all of those riders are his Daddy.