The summer had officially begun. Husband was safely returned from Summer Camp and suitably rested. The sun was forecast to be in the sky and so it was time for an adventure.
We decided to take the bikes to Lisburn for lunch. It was the first time that Betty, my beautiful cruiser of a bike (seriously, look at her...all pearlescent pink with flames on the chain guard, saddle and handles, not to mention the detachable wicker basket on the front!) * had been given a proper airing since before Bea was born. She had of course taken part in the obligatory cycle to the park and for ice cream, but thrice in three years really doesn't count. Beatrice was almost beside herself with excitement, bouncing on the spot declaring "I love lunch in Lisburn" which was certainly prophetic as she has never been to Lisburn for lunch!
Bea was not cycling there herself, but travelling in ibert. Being Bea, she demanded a twirly skirt for the occasion. Lola obliged. We were joined by Granda Robert and Granny Gina. Our little convoy invoked a considerable amount of hilarity from those we passed (probably a combination of ibert and the wicker basket) and comments including "My word, it's the Von Trapps"
This being Bea's inaugural jaunt to "the Point" we had to pause to admire some of the landmarks along the way, like the big fish. But after brief moments off the bike, her demands of "Let's go" and "Daddy go faster" forced us back into the saddle and off again.
We had planned to stop at the Loughkeeper's Inn, a hostelry of much local notoriety, for coffee en route. As we slalomed through hoards of people walking along the tow path, and may I add, overtook several groups of cyclists, we wondered if there would be room for us at the Inn. We needn't have worried. It was closed. Indeed the sign said, "closed for holidays, 11th, 12th and 13th July". I was never fully convinced that the owner of said establishment possessed great intelligence, but surely only a business numbskull would close the only coffee shop on a major tourist route on a public holiday. Anyhow, the Ramada hotel about a quarter of a mile off route (up a slight incline) was open and willing to provide refreshment.
Then back on the bikes. With only one more little stop for Bea to stretch her legs and blow bubbles before we reached our destination.
The Loughkeeper's Inncident should have given us warning...but as we arrived in Lisburn, with our eyes fixed on "the Point" and husband practically salivating at the mere thought of a steak, we noticed that it was closed. There must be somewhere open in the town city (no sorry, I can't, I don't care what the queen says) town to offer us food. The only problem was that the town was up hill. With my eyes fixed on the goal I actually ascended the mountain small hill fairly easily and we discovered "The Street" in which to eat.
It is probably best not to mention at this point the incident with the toilet door. Moving on. The return journey began with Beatrice doing her best nodding dog impression in ibert. This precipitated a stop at Shaw's Bridge to allow her to lie comfortably and snooze on the grass. Naturally, once the motion of the bike stopped, so did the slumber and she enjoyed fifteen minutes sprinting up and down hill and collecting wildflowers. Those fifteen minutes may not seem long, but were adequate time for every muscle beneath my waist to lock into position, which took five minutes back with Betty to unlock. Still our pace, significantly slower than the normal Seath speed, afforded us even more overtaking opportunities, until we reached Dargon and then my speed stopped. I'm convinced everyone else thought they were cycling backward and in Whitehouse Park I had to tell them all to go ahead fearing that, at my speed, gravity would pull them off their bikes. But still, I did it...cycling every inch back home. Once separated from Betty, I couldn't move for half an hour, but who could ask for more than half an hour in the sun with an ice pop anyway.
It is difficult to find words to describe just how much entertainment this photograph has brought my husband. The juxtaposition of my evident exhaustion against the boundless energy of the two year old sliding with joyous abandon.
My recovery was aided by a lovely warm bath, and after tea I braved the wastes of Tescos for dog food, milk and bread. Meanwhile, husband and daughter created a story / game in the back garden. It went something like this....
(Husband plays role of "the groom" and has most of the dialogue, daughter is "the bride")
"Oh no! Someone has lost their glass slipper! I must find out who it belongs to."
(Bride opens door) "Hello"
"Is this your glass slipper?"
"Yes"
"I shall have to try it on to see if it fits you."
(gasp) "It fits!
(The bride and groom hug)
(Bride rushes off saying "shops" and kicks off a glass slipper. She rushes giggling back to her cottage. The cycle repeats)
Seriously, the cycle repeated about 50 times. I have it on video three times and it had been going on LONG before I returned.
Thankfully, for husband's sanity, the game was abridged today after the tenth cycle and they went hunting for friendly snakes in the jungle instead.
His patience was rewarded with the arrival of his new bike.
* I have not yet mentioned Betty's dice shaped air valve closey things, nor the detachable tassels for her handlebars, nor the fact that her name is painted on her chain guard ..."the Betty". Despite all of this, perhaps even because of it, the reason I love Betty is that when I am on her, no one could ever mistake me for a serious cyclist.
