Our Saturday morning bike rides/picnic breakfasts have left Mom and Dad without Saturday morning visitors, a condition they do not enjoy. This week, we invited them to join us for breakfast at the park at the end of the trail. They accepted with enthusiasm.
If you were at Blue Mills Park on Saturday about 9:00 am, you saw four filthy bikes and four riders splattered with mud from the tops of their heads to the tips of their toes; an elderly couple with smiles that lit the gloomy skies; a tablecloth-covered picnic table loaded down with homemade pumpkin muffins, cherry cinnamon rolls, egg strata and fresh fruit. You also saw eight people enjoying one of the best things life has to offer: a loud, imperfect, loving family.
The bikers arrived first by 10 minutes or so. We slid off our bikes and planted our dirty butts on the concrete. Soon, Mom and Dad and Deb and Meghan arrived by car. We all helped unload and set up the picnic. We ate and talked and laughed, then we packed it all up again. The car people drove home and the riders returned to the filthy trail.
I wasn't sure how Dad was going to react to all the commotion, but he joined right in. In fact, he wanted to go to Target later that day to buy a thermos so he can bring coffee next week. And so, a tradition is born. Mom and Dad are included, and we get a much better breakfast than what we've been carrying in our backpacks. We drop off whatever we've made at Mom's house before hitting the trail so she doesn't have to do it all. Everyone wins.
I love it when that happens.