|Colin, ready to roll in his set of wheels.|
|Oliver, road ready.|
|Colin, enjoying the neighbor's barking dog.|
|Oliver, shouting to us to stop taking pictures and keep going.|
|Warning: Gore. Mature audiences only.|
"No, Mom! We can't go back! We have to keep going! I need to practice."
And just like that, he climbed back on his bike with his bleeding knee and pedaled farther down the path, sniffling up the last of his tears.
|Pictured: Sheer determination to push through a terrible, possible career-ending injury.|
|Colin, oblivious to Oliver's severe injuries and uncaring about whether or not we turn back.|
But do you know what happened as soon as we got home? His knee injury suddenly flared up. He had to have juice to make it feel better and he had to watch a TV show and he couldn't even brush his own teeth OW MOM OW OW OW IT HURTS SO BAD I CAN'T GO TO BED IT WILL HURT TOO MUCH AND I WON'T BE ABLE TO SLEEP.
Amazing how that happened, no?
When he told me that his knee would never ever ever get better, I said that we should get rid of his bike and never go bike riding again.
"Noooooo!!! YOU CAN'T GET RID OF MY BIKE! I WANT TO RIDE MY BIKE MORE!"
"But you said your knee wasn't going to get better, never ever ever."
"Never ever ever until tomorrow. We could still ride bikes again tomorrow. Okay?"
Okay, Oliver. We'll ride bikes again tomorrow.